The Peanut in the Staticky Messages
by Evie Specter
Summary: A lie about Sully, blood in Bones' apartment, and a trip to a forensic expo that drops Brennan down the rabbit hole of her foster care past. Can Booth bring her back when he's the one that broke her heart? Angst-fest, B/B lovin', and Zack's last escape!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Post-"Doctor in the Photo" with a twist: in the car Brennan blurts that she wishes she had gone with Sully as a way of distracting Booth when he is about to break her heart. Rated T for now, possibility of M much farther down the line. Daily updates while I'm on vacation, no promises once my vacation ends.**

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to Fox and whoever else. Goodness knows I'm not getting any money out of this. Just good karma.**

* * *

Booth's POV

"Maybe you just need a couple days off," I said.

"I'm alright now," she quavered. "Except I – I made a mistake."

"No," I said, "I told you my opinion – you got it all right."

"Not everything. She died with regrets."

I knew we weren't talking about Lauren anymore.

"Look, Bones, everybody has regrets."

I chanced a glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Her makeup was smudged and the world outside her window was blurry with rain.

"I heard her, you know?" Bones said, breathy. "Micah says all that we get are these dim, staticky messages from the universe."

That was not something the Bones I knew would say. I felt the wariness creep up again, the wariness that had shadowed me the past three days.

"Who's this Micah guy?"

"The night watchman. But he attends a lot of lectures. Anyway, the point is, she never gave him a chance."

I was trying to keep up. "Micah."

"No – no, the helicopter pilot. He offered himself to her, but she never gave him a chance. That was her regret."

My heart stuttered. My brain shut down, refusing to consider what she meant.

"I got the signal, Booth. I don't want to have any regrets."

My mouth was dry. My chest ached. _She might not mean what you think she means,_ I reasoned.

_Bullshit – you know Bones better than that._

But it wasn't up for consideration. I felt my mind shutdown, almost defensive.

"Um, I'm with someone, Bones," I murmured. "And, uh, Hannah – she's not a consolation prize. I love her."

"I should've gone with Sully on his boat," she interrupted.

A hit in the chest.

And then she started quietly sobbing.

I realized the car was slowing down – I had my foot on the brake. I pressed the accelerator and flicked the blinker, turning onto her street.

_I should've gone with Sully on his boat._

Sully.

Not me.

It hurt to breathe. I looked over at her, her face all crumpled, and told myself I was feeling empathy. I didn't think I'd ever seen her sob like this – not even when we buried Ripley. For a second I felt a little bit like a buried puppy myself – but then again, Bones wasn't crying over me.

We were nearing her apartment and already she was catching her breath.

_Focus._

"Do you want me to, uh, call someone? To be with you?"

For all I knew she might decide to go for another walk in the middle of the road. I thought of calling Hannah, asking her to make up the couch, but I had a visceral reaction to waking up to Bones in my apartment.

"No, I'm fine. Alone," she rasped. "Thanks." Then, "I just need to get some sleep."

She was always a terrible liar – she still didn't make eye contact when she was lying, even though she'd heard me talk about that in the interrogation room. She wasn't stupid. Maybe she wanted me to know she was lying.

But right now it was easier to believe lie.

"Alright, just… promise me you really will sleep, yeah?" I said.

She nodded, still not making eye contact.

I pulled into a parking space. She was opening the door before I killed the engine.

"I'm sorry for my behavior, Booth."

And then she snagged me with her blue eyes.

"I promise I'll be back to normal tomorrow." She paused. "So there's no reason to tell our coworkers at the lab about this. Please."

She was asking me not to tell. Her mascara ringed her eyes, giving her a haunted, pathetic look.

"Sure, Bones," I sighed.

"Thank you, Booth."

And she slammed the door shut.

I watched her walk through the front door of her building. The rain pounded the windshield and she melted away.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: WARNING - there is a brief incident of self-harm in this chapter. This is NOT - repeat NOT - a story about self-harm. However, Brennan is still reeling from her heartbreak (and not a little delirious from sleep deprivation) and thus does exactly what Sweets said: distracts herself from difficult emotions by doing something dangerous. There will be regrets later. For now, just lots of B/B angst!**

* * *

Brennan's POV

I closed the door behind me.

And then I crumpled against the wood, sobbing again.

_You're out of the car, you're safe_, I chanted to myself. _You're out of the car. You're safe. He doesn't know anything._

I pressed my forehead against the door.

There are three types of tears. Basal tears lubricate the eyes and include Lysozyme, which dissolves the outer layer of some bacteria. Reflex tears result from irritation of the eye by foreign particles and flush the eye of irritants. Psychic tears are the result of strong emotion and contain higher levels of leucine enkephalin, a natural painkiller. Psychic tears can also be accompanied by convulsive breathing.

None of this adequately explained the ache in my chest.

I curled my hand underneath my sternum as my thoughts returned to the previous hour.

"_Bones, what are you doing here?"_

"_What are _you_ doing here!"  
"I don't know, following you to a bad part of town and saving your life. You know, the usual."_

_He followed me, _I had thought. _He still loves me._

The happy memory of first seeing Booth caused me additional emotional stress, as indicated by the increase in respiratory spasms.

I struggled to my feet, aware that if I continued to make so much noise in my doorway a neighbor might feel compelled to check on me. I clasped a hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the grating sounds.

Back in the car with Booth. The smell of his wet jacket, the close sounds of his breathing. He was blurry and soft in my sleep-deprived eyes.

Then those three words – three words, but not to me.

"_I love her."_

And then I hated him – because he was a liar. How did he know he loved her? Nine months ago he was sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He just _proved _that love wasn't eternal.

One theoretical explanation for psychic tears is that they produce a high-arousal aversive state that motivates the individual to act towards emotional recovery. I strode towards the kitchen and slammed a glass against the counter. I poured a shot and downed it in one.

"Good," I snapped out loud. Good I didn't get to tell him what I planned to. Good I had met Sully so I had an excuse ready. I had almost made a fool of myself, almost let my sleep deprivation cloud my rationality.

Then I grabbed the glass and whipped it at the tile floor. It shattered, of course, a predictable reaction of an object without large-area orderly crystalline structure when confronted with significant opposing force. I stared at the bloom of glass, vision blurring. I sank to my knees to pick up the larger pieces for the trash, but I paused after picking up the first shard. The clean edge flashed like a knife in the moonlight coming through my window.

_"When Lauren was really disappointed or upset, it's like Sweets said. She couldn't handle the intense emotion, so she'd do something dangerous."_

_ "Right. Like coming here in the middle of the night?"_

_ "I, I'm not her. We're – we're not the same person at all. It's just the universe turned upside down for three days."_

And it would take three days to turn right-side up again.

I brushed the edge of the glass along my opposite wrist. It tickled.

_You're being infantile and irrational, _a part of my mind whispered. But today I _wasn't_ thinking rationally – I was _feeling._

Suddenly I wanted to feel what Lauren felt. With my free hand I rucked up my shirt, exposing the skin over my ribs. I walked my fingers across the eighth and ninth rib on my right side – where Lauren was stabbed. I spread the skin between my two fingers and rested the glass between the two ribs.

Then I pressed and pulled.

I gasped, though the pain was minimal, like an itch. My whole body tingled. I watched, fascinated, as blood beaded against the edge of the gash. I lightly pressed my fingertips against the blood.

And my memory flashed to another night, another wound. Booth pressing his hand against my arm where Leacock had stabbed me with a scalpel. _"I'm not going anywhere. I got you. I've got you, baby."_

My throat burned and I was sobbing again. _Baby. _

I peeled my shirt the rest of the way off and left it fall to the kitchen floor. I stood and stumbled towards my bedroom, kicking off my shoes as I went. I paused at the door to push down my pants, then pulled back the covers with my clean hand. The sheets were cool and untouched after my three-day's absence. Wearing only my underwear I slipped between them, imagining the effects of the alcohol accelerating my overwrought brain's sleep cycle.

The world turned upside down for three days. It would take three days to turn right side up again.

Another sob bubbled up in my throat but I swallowed it.

The next three days started now.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: If you haven't figured it out yet this story will alternate points of view. **

* * *

Booth's POV

As I drove home I felt sick. I should've said something. The old Booth would've leapt at the chance to talk to Bones about love and regrets.

But the old Booth was a sucker, or so I told myself. It didn't quell the queasiness.

As I shrugged out of my coat two hands slipped up my shoulders.

"Hey there, G-man."

I spun around and gave Hannah a kiss before she could see me. She made a little _mmph _sound and then wrapped her hands around my head. The coat fell to the floor and I started walking her backwards into the living room. She was so soft and dry.

Then she yanked my head back by my hair.

"What's wrong?" she said. Her face was completely serious.

"What, can't a guy kiss his girlfriend in his own home?" I teased, leaning in for another.

She leaned out of my lips' reach. "You can kiss me anywhere you want, Seeley, but you're _shaking._"

And she was right. I hadn't even noticed.

"It was raining. I was cold," I said impatiently. "And you know the fastest way for you to warm me up is to take off all my wet clothes, share some body heat…"

This time she broke out of my embrace.

"Did something happen to Dr. Brennan?"

My heart stopped again for a minute.

I'd call it women's intuition, except Bones taught me a long time ago not all women are intuitive.

But Hannah is. Her forehead was puckered in worry.

This is what relationships are about – trust. Telling the whole truth.

Did that mean I had to tell her I had just followed Bones across town?

I sighed and ran a hand over my face.

"Yeah, something happened with Bones. But she's fine," I added quickly, seeing Hannah's raised brows. "She just – she told me – she was crying, and talking about regrets –"

"She was crying?" Hannah interrupted. I guess you didn't have to know Bones long to know she was emotionally stunted.

"Yeah. She told me she made a mistake. That she wished she'd gone off with some guy to the Caribbean on his boat a few years ago."

Hannah frowned. "Is this guy real, or am I to understand this is a metaphorical opportunity?"

"Oh, he's real," I snorted. Hannah's brows were slightly raised again. I crossed my arms. "She partnered with him on a couple of cases four years ago. Agent Sullivan – Sully. He was a good guy." I paused. "He decided he was sick of murder and quit the FBI."

"And the boat?" Hannah prompted.

I shuffled the change in my pocket. "He named her _Temperance_."

Hannah made a little "o" with her lips. Then her eyes thinned in concentration. "Well, didn't you say Dr. Brennan traveled to Maluku because she needed a break from murder?"

This wasn't helping my queasiness. "Yeah?"

Hannah nodded slowly. "So now she's catching up to him. You have said it takes her a long time to process things," she added. Then she changed tacks. "So what did you tell her?"  
"I – uh – I didn't really…" I told her I was in love with you. "I wanted to call Angela, but Brennan told me not to call anyone."

"You left her _alone?_" Hannah demanded.

"Ah, come on. Bones is a big girl." My hand was still trembling. I took a deep breath and tried to still the change in my pocket.

Hannah beat me to it, pulling out my hand and lacing our fingers. For a minute I just looked at our hands, her soft, thin fingers woven with my own. I stopped shaking. _This _was a relationship. Solid. Not constantly shifting. No lying to each other or to yourself. No running. No sudden personality shifts.

"I guess even ace FBI interrogators can't always know what to say," she murmured. She gave me a soft peck and then brushed her free hand through my hair. "But we should call Angela."

She broke away, walking towards her cell phone on the coffee table.

"Wait!" I said. Hannah turned back, hand still extended. "I told her – I told her I wouldn't tell anyone we worked with. I can't break her trust. She'd never forgive me."

Hannah considered. "Okay," she conceded. "But you've got to talk to her about this. If she was crying in front of you, Booth, she wanted you to know."

"Yeah, I know," I sighed. "I just – I freaked out. What do you say to someone? With a broken heart?"

My voice caught a little. Once again I made my mind go blank, refusing to take that path down memory lane. I focused on Hannah, barefoot and in a wrinkled white shirt. She tiptoed towards me.

"You say 'I'm your friend.'" She kissed me. "And say 'I still love you.'"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Zack attack!**

* * *

Brennan's POV

_Black. Are my eyes open, or closed?_

_ My legs are tingling. Slowly I extend them, but my feet bump against something hard – plastic? My back aches. I try to sit up – I bang into something hard. My hands fly up, only to hit more plastic. I run my palms across the walls, into corners, I'm hammering against the walls, fingers bruising, nails cracking – _

I sat up gasping. I threw off the binding covers and placed my bare feet on the carpet. The clock on my bedside table showed 6:25 a.m.

_You're in your apartment. You're safe._

I told myself the adrenaline was an involuntary and irrational response – a trick of my body.

Another nightmare.

And everyone told me I should get more sleep. Little did they know. I snorted in dark amusement and threw back the rest of the covers. I needed to shower after three days without.

I turned on the lights in the bathroom and was confronted with my reflection. My skin was pasty, my hair dark with three days' dirt. And a dark red slash between two ribs. I ran the pads of two fingers over the thick scab already forming. It stung a little to the touch. Instead of feeling embarrassed I felt calmed, somehow, by seeing evidence of my internal anguish on my body. How irrational.

I kicked off my panties and turned on the shower.

Usually on a Saturday I'd go into work. Even if there wasn't a case there were always bodies in limbo. But today I didn't want to go to the lab. My eyes ached and my head felt swollen with mucus. I wanted to see a friend.

I felt a sharp pang at the thought of seeing Booth. He would be with Hannah, of course. I thought of Angela but was uncomfortable disturbing her domestic raptures with Hodgins. To be honest, seeing her happiness was unjustifiably painful and I couldn't imagine expending the effort today to discipline my reactions and be a good friend. Although I had reconciled with Russ and my father, I was not about to confide emotional vulnerability in the two people that had been the first to leave me. Even Cam was busy, helping Michelle with her college applications.

_"So, I'm the only one living the life I expected," I finished._

_ "So how's that, honey?" Angela asked._

It's not what I expected – I'm sad.

_ "It's uh, it's how I expected."_

My tear glands, however, seemed incapable of producing more tears. I just felt aching and torpid, a combination of sensations I could only describe as despair.

I pulled on jeans and a sweater and roughly combed my hair. By the time I reached my destination it would be dry – and where I was going personal hygiene wasn't a priority.

I had seen the gloves Zack wore when he escaped to help us on a case, but it was still surprising to see the black cotton.

Zack, of course, did not miss the direction of my glance, however fleeting.

"I estimate that I've gained almost 60% full function," he said.

"That's excellent considering the amount of damage incurred," I responded.

I was still standing by the door, several feet away from the chair placed across the table from where he sat.

"Last time you saw me you gave me a hug," he said.

I shifted on my feet and smiled sadly. "Well now if I hug you it will seem perfunctory."

"True," he said.

I strode across the room and threw my arms around his scrawny shoulders. As usual his returning gesture was light – Booth always said Zack's handshake was "like a dead fish." Once again I felt physical pain at Booth's memory.

"I'm sorry I haven't come to see you," I said, pulling back from Zack and sitting down.

"Dr. Hodgins tells me you were in Maluku examining ancient remains. Actually he told me you were examining _very_ ancient remains but I assumed he was being purposefully redundant," Zack said. And people said Zack was too emotionally obtuse to be kind. Clearly in his interpretation of my long absence he was assuming the best about me – and that was a great kindness. In truth I hadn't visited Zack once since his escape to help us on a case. Sweets would probably interpret such behavior as some kind of emotional avoidance – an ambiguous and absurd conjecture, of course.

"I should have remembered to bring you a copy of the latest _Jeffersonian Magazine_," I said. "There was an article about my time in Maluku. I can tell you, though, that none of our findings were significant."

"You don't look well," Zack said. I laughed – an involuntary response because it was so unusual for Zack to be so perceptive. "I'm in a therapy group that's focusing on nonverbal communication," he explained. "I've found the experience moderately edifying. Although it's difficult to respect a group leader that chooses the precept 'listen with your eyes.'"

I laughed again. It was amazing that Zack could make me laugh, especially when filling my lungs with each breath seemed so arduous.

"He might as well say 'taste with your hands,'" I commiserated.

"When I said you didn't look well I meant physically unwell, but you might be sad. Or angry. Interpreting body language is one of my weaknesses."

He was waiting for me to give him the correct answer – like always. "I found the case I just finished to be very difficult," I chose to answer.

"How so?" he immediately asked. "Did you have difficulty identifying the cause of death?"

"No – I had difficulty approaching the case objectively."

A blank stare from Zack. "You've never struggled with objectivity before," he said.

"I know," I answered. "I was… distracted by significant similarities between myself and the murder victim."

"But you aren't dead," Zack pointed out.

"True, but there were striking similarities," I insisted.

"Can you give me an example?" Zack pushed.

I thought of the ring, the picture, the voice, but for Zack those would be trifling coincidences. In fact Zack was probably the worst person to have this conversation with.

"One of the men who knew the victim, Lauren, said that if she rationally decided there were too many people in the world she'd unleash a plague to kill us all."

As soon as I said it I regretted it.

"That sounds like a similarity with me, not you," he said.

"I didn't –"

"Although there was a fundamental flaw in my reasoning. You would never make such a mistake. Ergo you shouldn't worry about becoming a mass murderer."

How could I possibly respond? Zack would probably never understand my emotional experience with this case. Was this how Booth felt, talking to me? Like I would never understand? Like I was some sort of emotionally defective charity case?

I vowed to myself I would abandon Zack again.

"I brought a game," I said, reaching into my purse.

"Is it a math problem? Hodgins brings me math problems."

I laid the deck of cards on the table between us. "It's a game my dad and I have played. It's called Blitz. It's a game of pure chance, so your heightened intelligence shouldn't affect the odds."

"Can I count cards?" he asked.

I considered. "Possibly, but ultimately what matters is your reflexes."

"Ah, so you plan to use my diminished manual function against me," he said. I laughed again.

When I left McKinley Psychiatric Hospital I didn't feel better so much as determined to stand by Zack. If I felt abandoned by Booth, I'm sure Zack felt even worse. Or if he didn't realize he felt that way, deep down, he was still lonely. I knew because I was like him, no matter if he told me otherwise.

I turned my phone on as I walked to my car. As I sat in the driver's seat my phone chirped. I looked at the screen:

_16 Missed Calls_

_6 New Voice Messages_

This made no sense. What possible emergency could have taken place during my brief absence? I opened the call log.

_Seeley Booth…_

_Seeley Booth…_

_Seeley Booth…_

And then the phone started ringing in my hand.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Early update before midnight. Happy new year!**

* * *

Booth's POV

Blue morning light dimly lit the room. The red digits on the clock read 6:45.

Hannah was pressed against my chest, breathing slow and light. She was a great sleeper – able to slip into a coma and out again like a cat. It was a skill you needed in a war-zone. I used to sleep like that.

And now what was I thinking about instead of sleeping? Sully.

Him and his freaking sausage and pepper sandwiches. His thirteen career changes before the age of thirty. His suggestive nickname "Peanut."

I considered waking Hannah for a little morning delight (don't hear Hannah complaining about that department, thank you) but I knew it was selfish to steal her last fifteen minutes of sleep.

I shifted; Hannah's head rolled against my shoulder.

I couldn't make out Sully as a bad guy. Hell, I told Bones to go with him the first time. And I knew that Sully's decision to leave the FBI wasn't as spontaneous as he made it seem – his heart hadn't been in the game since he lost his partner.

My memory leapt unbidden to Bones, hoisted by chains, gagged, dogs barking, Kenton with a knife. Bones caked in quarry dirt, heaving for breath. Bones in my arms, ripping out Leacock's scalpel.

_"No,"_ I whispered. I pulled Hannah closer – warm, soft, and solid, I focused on her. I brushed my thumb across the angry red scar on her shoulder and sighed. Weren't women supposed to run away from danger? If either of them heard me thinking that they'd kill me. That made me smile.

Then the alarm went off. Hannah groaned. I reached across and slapped it off but Hannah's arms were already withdrawing, exposing my chest to the cold air. She pressed a quick kiss to my left pectoral and rolled to her feet. No more point pretending. I headed to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

Hannah emerged in a lightly wrinkled button-down and corduroys. I handed her a mug of coffee and leaned in to smell her hair, hands on her hips.

"Mmm, you're friendly this morning," she said.

"I think I'm going to bring Bones some breakfast," I murmured.

Hannah nodded. "That's a good idea. But isn't it a little early on a Saturday?"

"You're going into work," I pointed out.

She shrugged. "Stories don't wait."

"Neither do bones. Well, at least not for Bones. She always goes in on Saturdays."

Hannah rolled her eyes at my unintended pun. Then, "Lunch?"

"The diner? Noon?"

She pulled away to pour her coffee into a travel mug. "Done."

In the car my thoughts drifted back to Sully. Did this means Bones was going to try to find him? Fly to Puerto Rico? My chest tightened at the thought. Sure, I said I was going to move on, but that never meant I expected _her _to move on. Hell, she insisted she was incapable of love.

In my mind Bones never changes – twenty years down the road she's still able to tell you the origin of a convict's limp, how your mother dropped you when you were a baby, and why that model's legs are bowed. Her hair is graying but she refuses to dye it, insisting the chemicals are bad for the environment – and, of course, a vain attempt to conform to Western society's arbitrary conception of beauty. She's probably responsible for Parker's acceptance to a top university, and he takes her out to lunch twice a month to talk about his research as a grad student in aeronautical engineering. At holidays she comes over to see Hannah and I, and it's a Thanksgiving tradition to hear her perform a forensic analysis of the turkey's cause of death. Now that she's past her so-called "sexual peak" she still sees guys occasionally, George Clooney-types, elegant bachelors, maybe one or two boys that are inappropriately young for her, but it's never serious. She always pays her half of the bill and never lets them hang their clothes in her closet. She takes her vacations alone, traveling to identify the remains of a bog body in Romania or the victims of a pharmaceutical company's malfeasance in Nigeria.

But my vision of Bones in twenty years was faltering. I imagined her perhaps on the other side of the world, leaning against the railing on a sailboat, pointing out the constellations to a man that wraps his arms around her waist. She's gone, completely, just a memory of a light in an apartment window as I drove by late at night, checking to make sure she had left the lab. Parker forgets about her, Hannah doesn't ask for old Bones stories. I move to a supervisor's position at the FBI, driving a desk and stuck at functions in a suit and tie, trying to be friendly while I'm wishing Bones was waiting on the terrace outside the ballroom with a piece of cake and two forks.

How could I explain that even though we could never be romantic partners, I still wanted her to stay – as my friend? Could our friendship be enough?

And I realized that was exactly what she had asked of me last May.

"_Can we still work together?"_

And what had I said? _"I gotta move on."_

I had told her she wasn't enough. And as much as it broke my heart, it would be unfair to try and make her stay when all she wanted was what I had already gone out and found – someone to love her in thirty or forty years.

_It could've been me, Bones, _I thought. _I wanted it to be me._

By the time I was outside Bones's door, bag of bagels in hand, my chest was aching and I just wanted to sit down and rest my head on my knees. But that's not what Bones would do. Bones would put on her game face, smile, and ask me how Hannah's investigation into police corruption was going. Right now I needed to be that good friend – for Bones.

I raised my arm and knocked.

"Yo – Bones – I got bagels."

I waited a beat, expecting to hear her stocking-feet padding across the wood floors.

I raised my hand to knock again.

"Come on, Bones, I know you're getting ready for work."

Still silence.

Maybe she was still asleep, catching up after the doctor case. I debated letting her sleep in, but then decided she needed human companionship more than rest. I pulled out my cell phone and hit speed dial.

The call went straight to voicemail.

"Hey, Bones – I'm outside your door with bagels. Don't tell me you've gone into work already."

I flipped the phone shut and decided to check and make sure she wasn't in her apartment before I swung by the Jeffersonian. I pulled out the spare key Bones gave me for emergencies and flipped the deadbolt.

I gave another shout-out to warn her before I barged in on her changing or something.

"Hey, Bones, you in here?"

The door swung shut behind me. I didn't hear the shower running. I walked towards the kitchen to set the bagels on the counter.

There was broken glass on the floor.

My gun was out, safety off.

"Bones?" I called again.

I smelled traces of alcohol around the glass, but that wasn't what worried me. There was something brown dried on one of the shards. I knew that color. Dried blood. She hadn't cleaned up the spill, it was old, maybe even from last night. And her shirt was inexplicably shoved in the corner.

I let the muzzle of my gun lead the way to Temperance's bedroom.

I snapped around the doorway, gun sweeping from closet to window to bed.

She wasn't in her bed. The sheets were ripped back. Worse, I saw smears of the same brown stuff on the sheets.

_What the hell, Bones!_

I flipped open my phone again, tempted to call in a forensic team. Instead I listened to Bones's voicemail a second time and then left a message at the beep.

"Bones, I'm in your apartment, and if you don't give me a call back _immediately _I'm converting your apartment into a crime scene."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I think I made an unintentional cliffie at the end of the last chapter! The scene Booth found was just the mess from Brennan's meltdown the previous night. Anyway, to recap, Brennan just left the psychiatric hospital and her phone is ringing.**..

* * *

Brennan's POV

I answered the phone as if I didn't know perfectly well who was calling me: "Brennan."

_"Bones!" _Booth's strained voice made the connection crackle with static. _"Where the hell are you?"_

"Why do you need that information? And why are there _sixteen _missed calls on my cell phone?" I snapped back. I didn't take well to being yelled at.

_"Because I've been trying to find you for the past hour!"_

"What could possibly be so urgent as to merit sixteen phone calls?"

_"Urgent? How about the bloody and broken glass in your apartment?"_

My body flushed with heat. _How did he know? _Then I realized that rationally speaking there was no possible way he could guess the circumstances that led to the bloody broken glass. Booth would never suspect me of such irrationality. I also couldn't think of a reason for him to be in my apartment. My flush of panic transformed into fury.

"Why were you in my apartment, Booth?" I demanded.

_"Because I brought you breakfast and you weren't answering your phone!"_

"So you decided that because my phone was off you should break into my apartment?"

_"I didn't break in – you gave me a key."_

"For _emergencies_, Booth. For all you knew I could've been asleep!"

_"But you weren't, Bones. You weren't. And you weren't at the lab. Or the Hoover. Or Angela's. Or the coffee cart. Or even the goddamn library, Bones. _No one_ knew where you were."_

"For your information I went to see Zack," I said. "And so I turned off my phone." Silence on the other end of the line. "And since when do I need to notify you of my whereabouts? You haven't even come by the lab in over a week." I paused, afraid I had revealed too much by tacitly admitting I paid attention to his comings and goings. But of course it would be rational for me to note his appearances at the lab; we worked together, after all.

Booth was still silent.

"Booth?" I prompted.

_ "So then what happened in your apartment?"_

"I broke the glass by accident. And then I cut myself when I was picking up the bigger pieces for the trash. I was so tired I left the mess."

_"Fine. Good."_

"Goodbye, Booth."

_ "Enjoy the bagels."_

I snapped my phone shut and rested my head against the steering wheel. How _dare _he? But for once he was checking on me again, in a way he hadn't done in weeks. Bringing me breakfast. His voice echoed in my mind and I hated that I was yelling at him when all I wanted was to tell him…

He proved love didn't exist. I jammed the key in the ignition. _He had no right._

I had the whole day ahead of me. And now the only place I could imagine going was back to the lab.

But as I hung my coat in my office, I instead pulled my laptop from my bag and sat at my desk.

While I was in Maluku I had been working on the next Kathy Reichs novel. Although Kathy and Andy had recently "consummated their love" I had found it difficult to write a love story after my revelations with Agent Booth last spring. I thus contrived a situation in which Andy wanted to get more serious, while Kathy baulked. She then decided to join an expedition in Southeast Asia unearthing ancient remains. When Andy asked her to stay she told him he was being a possessive alpha-male and that they were just having a fling. Enormously hurt, Andy didn't even show up at the airport to see Kathy off. If Angela read any of this portion of the novel, she would be impressed with my characters, I was sure.

I opened the word document.

Four months into Kathy's expedition she received a call from the Department of Defense. They wanted her to examine a set of remains found in Afghanistan. The remains were of utmost importance to the military, and the tacit truth was that military suspected they had found the remains of one rather famous Al Qaeda leader. To Kathy's surprise, when she arrived in Afghanistan she was met with Andy, who was called in as the other half of the best murder-solving team in the United States.

Originally Kathy and Andy fell back into love and bed, too weak to resist the pull of attraction in the danger of a war zone. I remembered late nights in Maluku, writing in the back of a book of field notes by the light of an oil lantern. The fantasies ran rampant, then, stoked by the humid, perfumed jungle night and sweetened by Booth's absence.

I found the page where Kathy gets the call from the Department of Defense and started deleting. Instead, Kathy would be called to examine the remains in Washington, D.C. And when she returned, Andy would have a new girlfriend, a reporter named Hallie.

It was easy to write about Kathy's heartbreak; it was my own. I wasn't sure yet when Kathy would realize she was in love with Andy, but I knew it would happen. And would Andy reciprocate?

I paused in my typing. The cursor blinked. I needed to take a walk.

On Saturdays they didn't even bother to turn on the lights over the forensic platform. The room was dim and golden, lit only by the winter sunlight filtering through the windows. What usually appeared cold and clinical seemed warm and mysterious. A secret room hidden in a museum.

Winter in D.C. sometimes meant rain, sometimes snow, but today it was sunny and bitter cold. I wrapped my arms tight around my wool coat and leaned into the wind. My feet automatically led me to the diner – I couldn't walk for long in this weather.

I paused on the sidewalk opposite the diner, waiting for a break in traffic. Then I saw him.

He was sitting at our usual booth by the window, fork raised over a piece of pie. I smiled a little despite myself as he took a bite and rolled his eyes in mock rapture.

Then the traffic moved and I saw Hannah was seated across from him. She laughed at his display and then he held out the fork for her. She wrinkled her nose but then leaned in, closing her lips over the bite and sweeping it off his fork with a dramatic flourish. Then she made fun of him, rolling her eyes, pretending to swoon, and probably groaning. He flashed his goofy smile, then leaned across the table and cradled her face with both hands. When he kissed her it was slow and sweet, one kiss and then another, lingering even as she drew back a few inches to lick the cinnamon from the corner of her mouth.

Just when I thought my body was too exhausted to cry anymore, I felt my eyes sting and my chest tighten. Quickly I turned away and strode back to the Jeffersonian. I didn't need to eat. I'd just throw myself back into work and forget this whole ridiculous, irrational, overly-emotional, stupid, stupid, mistake.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Another really sad one. *le sigh* Interestingly enough there should be a break from the angst tomorrow.**

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Booth's POV

I didn't tell Hannah about the panic over Bones this morning. I felt guilty – about not telling Hannah the whole truth about last night, about not staying with Bones when she was hurting, and now about my failed attempts to reconnect with Bones. When Hannah asked, "How was your breakfast with Dr. Brennan?" I answered instead, "She wasn't there. She went to see Zack." And then it turned out Hannah didn't know who Zack was, so I spent most of lunch telling her the story.

"It doesn't seem like you liked him very much," Hannah observed.

I made a face. "I didn't." Then serious. "But Bones did."

We fell silent.

Hannah tried to cheer me up with pie – she could tell something was off – and I played along. For a moment I remembered Sweets' comment about my attempts to get Bones to eat pie as a form of seduction. But it didn't feel like a seduction when Hannah gave in so easily.

The diner was only a few blocks from the Jeffersonian, and after I kissed Hannah goodbye my feet led me past my car, towards the lab, towards Bones.

I needed to make things right. She was hurting and angry at me, probably for good reason given how I abandoned her last night. And then there was our conversation this morning – _And since when do I need to notify you of my whereabouts? You haven't even come by the lab in over a week._

And then we come back to the guilt. Because I had been by the lab – I'd been there for hours, lurking in Angela's office while she sketched, filling out paperwork on the couches that looked over the forensic platform, wandering the halls of the museum before it closed.

When Angela asked, "Do you have Brennan tonight? Because I think she's going to try another all-nighter and all I want to do is put my feet up," I said, "Sure, yeah, I'll be around." Because I was around – dozing on the couches, listening to music in my car in the parking garage, and lying to Hannah, saying that I was going to be up late doing paperwork when she called.

When Cam said, "I know you babysat Dr. Brennan last night, so why don't I take a turn," I said, "Nah, I got it." But why didn't I let Cam take over when I wasn't even doing my job? When I couldn't bring myself to take her a cup of coffee, let alone a sandwich? When I was hiding in my car so I wouldn't have to watch her?

And now Bones had reached her own logical conclusion: that I had left her, probably that I didn't care. But I couldn't tell Bones I really was there, because she'd ask why she'd never seen me. And why _couldn't _I have been there for her? Why did it suddenly feel wrong to bring her Thai takeout at midnight? Why did I have to send Sweets instead of asking what was wrong myself? Who was I kidding, I _had _left her – but it was because I _did _care, when I shouldn't. Not when I was in love with Hannah, when Bones was in love with Sully.

My footsteps were heavy and the winter wind was bitter but I plodded on. It would do me good to see Bones, anyway, after the scare this morning. After my first taste of what it would be like when Bones left me – or D.C., anyway. My chest tightened again. Maybe I had over-reacted a little to a mess in her apartment. But the thought of Bones _gone _made me a little crazy.

The heat inside the door hit me like a wall. My clothes were cold from the wind and I took my coat off to let the heat penetrate to my skin. The forensic platform wasn't lit so the room was dim with what little winter sunshine filtered through the windows. I looked over to the glass walls of Bones's office and, sure enough, saw the light was on.

But when I strode around the corner I heard her – a gasp? No – a sob.

I stepped lightly so I could see through the glass.

She was trembling, wracked with sobs. One hand covered her face and the other grabbed her right side, as if she was in pain.

I took a step back, out of view.

_She needs you, Seeley._

My throat was tight and my palms itched with sweat.

_No, she needs Sully_, I thought nastily.

I rubbed my hand over my face. Thinking like that wouldn't help anything.

I took a deep breath and strode up to her open door and knocked twice on the glass.

"Hey, Bones," I said softly.

She started and the sobs stopped immediately.

"Booth – I –" She scrambled to sweep several tissues into the trash.

"Hey," I stilled her hand, "Don't worry about it."

She pulled her hand from my grasp and opened a desk drawer, taking out a pocket mirror. She started fixing her eye makeup.

I flopped onto her couch with a sigh. "Thinking about Sully?" I asked.

For a moment she gave me this odd look – the look when I said something she thought was completely irrelevant. Then the mask was back.

"I'm just processing the stress after our last case, Booth. Given that psychological tears carry adrenocorticotropic hormone out of the body I expected crying to be, colloquially speaking, a cathartic experience." She put back the mirror and slammed the drawer shut.

"Whoa – wuh-hoa," I said, throwing up a hand. "Last night you were crying because you wished you'd gone with Sully. No changies, no take-backs."

She shrugged. "It was a moment of irrationality, Booth. I was tired."

The walls were back. It was amazing – I wouldn't have even guessed she was recently crying if her eyes weren't red. I leaned in, elbows on knees.

"Love _is_ irrational, Bones," I hissed.

Tears started welling in her eyes again. "Yes. It is irrational, Booth," she snapped. "Because it doesn't exist."

"Oh, here we go again," I said, throwing up my hands. "You gonna start telling me about baby hormones and the sympathetic digestive system? 'Cause I've heard it before, Bones, and you can't tell me that what you were feeling last night was just stress and brain chemicals. Brain and heart, Bones," I said, tapping her desk for emphasis. "Brain and heart. Last night was your _heart._"

My voice broke a little on the last word. It caught me by surprise and I had to swallow quickly to disguise the slip. Her lip was trembling and her eyes were even bluer and sparkly with the tears and _I wanted to kiss her_.

My heart sank at the sudden betrayal of my thoughts.

It had been _months_ since I had thought of kissing Bones.

I sank back into the couch cushions and let my head fall into my hands.

I never thought she'd be farther away from me than in that moment outside the Hoover, pushing me away and insisting she could never change. I took her word for it – I accepted that she could never change. She could never be a lover, but she'd always be my best friend. That little bit of distance, for her.

But she did change. She _was _a lover. But not for me. And she was farther away than I ever thought she could be.

Never did I consider this a possibility.

"Booth?" she whispered. "Booth, are you mad at me?"

"No," I said, pulling my face from my hands. "No, Bones, just don't…" Don't leave me. "Don't cheat yourself out of your thirty or forty years. Because it's worth it."

I dared lock eyes with her for a moment. If anything she looked worse than before.

"You're a good friend, Booth," she whispered.

Friend. Always a friend.

I had to leave. "Take care of yourself Bones, okay?" I said, standing up.

She just looked at me with those forlorn baby blues. I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck and walked out.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: So for some reason the next few chapters came out as fluff. It's like someone took over my body - I am SO not a fluff fan. So I've come up with the following plan: the next couple of days I'm going to do double updates in order to get through the fluff faster. Fluffies, rejoice! Angsties, I promise all good things come to an end.**

* * *

Brennan's POV

Monday morning. The third day.

As I pulled a wrap dress over my shoulders I felt a twinge of pain between my eighth and ninth ribs, accompanied by a twinge of annoyance. _Stupid_, I thought, and then paused. Two days ago I had looked at the cut and felt reassured. Now I was annoyed. Surely this was progress towards the world turning right-side up again.

I cinched the dress around my waist and tied a knot. Ready for work.

I had not stayed at the lab after Booth left on Saturday. Instead I packed up my laptop and returned to my apartment where I continued to write Kathy and Andy. I had slept on the couch Saturday night and woke up early Sunday morning with my laptop on the floor next to me. I didn't think about me and Booth, didn't think about how he all but told me to go chase after Sully and leave him alone to enjoy the next few decades with Hannah.

The more I wrote Andy and Kathy, the more I realized Angela could never read this draft, however wonderful the characterization. Angela would know _everything _the moment she read it. I wasn't even sure I'd be able to send this draft to my publisher, because then _everyone_ I knew would guess my heartbreak over Booth.

As I idled at a red light I considered my two options:

1) Print out the novel once it was finished, lock it in a safety deposit box, and write a different version for the public.

2) Send the version to my publisher, but only after I had left the Jeffersonian.

The light turned green.

I considered the second option. Booth had all but told me I should run after Sully.

My chest ached but my eyes did not sting. I took a deep breath, satisfied with my control.

Booth had truly moved on. He wanted to be alone with Hannah, now. Angela, also, was secure and happy in her new life with Dr. Hodgins. Cam had Michelle, as well as several interns that could effectively take over my duties at the Jeffersonian. Dr. Clark Edison, in particular, was ready to fill my shoes.

I thought back to a conversation with Dr. Saroyan after my return from Maluku.

"_What happened? You're no longer in the Jeffersonian. All my interns gone," I said._

"_What happened is you put your own desires ahead of everything else and left," she answered._

"_Are you angry with me?"_

"_Yes. I am angry, Dr. Brennan. We had a great thing going. You just... you let it fall apart."_

Dr. Saroyan was partly right. I didn't prepare the system for my departure, although Booth, Angela, and Dr. Hodgins had contributed in their own ways. With the help of the lynch pin, Ms. Julian, I could make my exit without disrupting the team too greatly.

This time I wasn't running – because this time everyone was ready for me to leave.

I didn't see Booth sitting on the couch in my office.

"Hey, Bones!"

I dropped several files in surprise. "Booth! How did you get into my office?" I demanded, not a little flustered.

He had his charm smile on, and the base of my spine still tingled, even though I knew that smile wasn't really for me.

"Dr. Saroyan let me in."

"Why?" I asked, picking up the files. There was a manila folder sitting in my inbox and I pulled it to the center of my desk to take a look.

Suddenly his hand was on top of the file.

"Booth, this could be important!" I complained, but I was smiling despite myself, damn it. Even when he had broken my heart less than three days ago, his playful nature won me over.

He whipped out a brochure and slapped it on my desk.

"This is why, Bones."

I picked up the brochure. "A forensic science expo?" I glanced at the list of keynote speakers. "This is the opposite of important, Booth. Most of us could be giving these lectures – I'm sure I don't need to remind you we're at the top of our field."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. So then you can be the smartass in the back of the classroom correcting all their mistakes."

"No, Booth," I insisted. "Even if we don't have a case, identifying remains from bone storage is more important than listening to mediocre forensic technicians with an inflated sense of self-importance describe procedures that have not been properly empirically tested, are logically unsound or unacceptably fallible, or all _three_."

Then a voice from my doorway: "You're going."

"What?" I interjected.

Dr. Saroyan walked into the room, arms crossed. "As head of the Forensics Division at the Jeffersonian I'm responsible for staff training and continuing education. I've already spoken with A.D. Hacker, who suggested the expo." She held up a hand to stop my objection. "You'll be paid for travel time as well as any overtime at the expo."

I felt my heart speed up at the thought of so much time alone with Booth so soon after our recent revelations. "I want to use one of my freebies," I blurted.

Dr. Saroyan smiled. "Then I use one of my freebie-declines."

I slapped down the brochure. "What is the point of having freebies if you just get to use a freebie-decline?"

"That's the way it works, Bones!" Booth jumped in. "Come on, it's not that bad. I hear Boston this time of year is _great._" He grinned.

"Given the tilt of the earth's axis relative to its orbital plane the sun is currently hitting the northern hemisphere at an oblique angle," I said. Booth raised his eyebrows. "I _suspect_," I added sarcastically, "That Boston is currently experiencing average temperatures around _freezing_."

"Exactly," he said. "Snow!"

"I never understood people's fascination with crystalline water ice," I muttered.

Angela appeared in the doorway, sketchbook in hand. "Sweetie, did you not get any snow days as a child?"

"Of course," I answered. "And I lamented the fact that my classmates and I were denied a day of tutelage."

"Of course you did," Angela said drily. "But come on, it'll be fun. Just think of it like a vacation, since you'll know everything they're presenting already."

"You're going?" I asked, feeling a little hope.

"Hell yes," Angela answered. "We _all _are so that this one," pointing her thumb at Cam, "can fulfill all her staff development requirements in one weekend."

Dr. Saroyan gave a sly smile. "Come on, Dr. Brennan, look at this way, I could've forced you to attend a training seminar put on by the FBI."

I considered this, shifting on my feet. Then, "I accept the logic behind your proposal."

"Great!" Dr. Saroyan smiled. "I've arranged flights for everyone tomorrow morning at 8 a.m."

Booth clapped his hands. "Excellent! Whip out those earmuffs, Bones, we're going to Beantown!"


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Double update as promised. BTW, thanks for all the super reviews!**

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Booth's POV

Cam said I had to cover her drink tab for the whole trip. That seemed fair considering I called her on a Sunday to ask her if she could suddenly clear everyone's schedule for a conference.

"You know these things are primarily for networking," she said to me, "And I'm the only one among us any good at it. Maybe Angela."

"Says the pathologist that almost canned her career talking about head injuries to war veterans on network television."

"Touché. So why exactly are you so determined to take Dr. Brennan to this expo? A.D. Hacker brought it up months ago."

I told most of the truth. "This last case really messed with her head. Bones needs some time off with friends, and we all know she won't take it unless we trick her into it."

The truth is I had a revelation Saturday night – when I was _not _sleeping, _again_. I told Bones to chase after her thirty or forty years, but I didn't want her to follow my advice. I wanted her to stay right here– as a friend, of course. That kissing thing had just been a random synapsis, or whatever Bones would call it, that came out of my desire to comfort her. As a friend.

I'd never ask her to stay outright – she was fiercely loyal to her friends, and I had no doubt she would put my happiness ahead of her own. So instead I had to _show_ her she could be happy here, with me, with us, just friends.

Goddamn it, I was in competition with Sully again, trying to win Bones. And this time I didn't even have the dignity of competing against a real person – or, well, a present person. I was fighting against some idea Bones had of a life that had sailed off into the Caribbean sunset.

Bones rolled up, carryon in one hand and wearing a hat that looked like a reincarnation of Pops' ugliest Christmas sweater.

"Wow, Bones, now that's a party hat."

"What?" She reached up and touched the rainbow wool. Then she saw my smile. "I'll have you know this _chullo _was given to me personally by a Peruvian woman that spun the wool from her own alpaca. And, _and_," she tugged on the earflaps, "these can be tied under my chin to protect my ears from the ten degree wind-chill reported in Boston this morning." She sounded so proud.

Hodgins and Angela rolled up. "Hey, Dr. B., nice hat," Hodgins said, gesturing to his own. He was also wearing a knit hat with earflaps, although he had a Mohawk of pompoms Bones's hat lacked.

Bones pursed her lips. "I'm sorry, Dr. Hodgins, but I'm afraid you've been misled as to the authenticity of your _chullo_."

Hodgins looked to me for an answer. I just shook my head.

Angela groaned from behind huge swathes of scarf. "Hodgins, I need coffee."

"Never fear," I said. I turned around a lifted the cardboard tray from my seat. "Coffees for everyone." I had arrived early to make sure. Bones took one eagerly. "Sorry," I murmured to her, "it's not from our coffee cart."

She just looked at me quizzically. "I'm sure the airport café serves perfectly acceptable coffee, Booth."

"Any coffee is acceptable coffee at this hour," Angela muttered.

Then Clark rolled up. "Ah, thank God," he said, reaching for the last coffee.

"Eh, sorry Clark," I said, placing my hand over the top. "I didn't know you were coming, and if Cam doesn't get her coffee when she arrives…"

Clark frowned at me but let the coffee go. "I see how it is," he muttered, and rolled off to buy his own.

"Booth!" Bones objected.

"What, I didn't know he was coming!" I hissed back.

"I asked Dr. Edison to come," she said, cocking her head and giving me her blue puppy eyes. I'm sure Bones would hate to know she even had "puppy eyes" but that didn't lessen their power over me.

"Hey, Clark," I called, "I'm buying."

He raised a hand, waving me off.

I shrugged at Bones. "I tried."

Then Cam walked up, looking straight off the catwalk in a sleek wool trench. "Alright, everybody," she said, "We should land around nine. We'll check-in at the hotel, grab some early lunch, and then the festivities start at noon."

"The festivities?" Bones asked.

"I'm sorry Dr. Brennan," Cam corrected, "I was referring to the conference."

"Which we do not expect to be at all festive," Brennan pointed out.

Cam smiled and shrugged. "That all depends on how much alcohol I consume at lunch."

They called our flight over the intercom. Hodgins quickly grabbed up both his and Angela's bags. I saw Bones reach for her carryon and swept it up before she could grab it.

"Booth, I'm perfectly capable of rolling my own suitcase," she argued.

"Yeah, but you hurt your hand," I shrugged.

"No I didn't," she laughed.

I furrowed my brows. "On the glass? In your apartment?"

I could swear I saw a panic in her eyes for just a second. She took a swig of coffee, effectively hiding her face, and then said, "No, that was my, uh, foot. When I was walking to the trash."

"Oh. Huh."

She grabbed the suitcase from my slack hand and quick-stepped to the line for boarding.

Something was off there. But what was it?

It wasn't until I was seated in coach that I identified the source of my unease.

There hadn't been any bloody footprints in Bones' apartment.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: More fluffy updates.**

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Brennan's POV

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

As a potential perpetrator of the perfect murder, I should've thought about flushing out the lie I told to Booth. He was a trained investigator; of course he'd eventually notice my hands were uninjured. I should've cut my hand on the glass as soon as I got home from the psychiatric hospital.

For one irrational moment I considered cutting my foot in the airplane bathroom. I judged this to be an irrational response for several reasons:

1) Airplane bathrooms are notorious for limiting range of motion and it would be difficult, if not impossible, to reach my foot.

2) Airplane security is notorious for removing sharp implements from the reach of passengers (not that their efforts had stopped me from bringing an ancient Mongolian halberd in my carryon luggage before – as a delicate artifact, of course).

3) Cutting my foot would mean walking with a painful injury for the rest of the day, and Booth would no doubt notice the change in my gait.

I settled into my seat, satisfied that I'd at least be protected from Booth for the duration of the flight, as he was in coach and I was in first class. I had upgraded my ticket, of course.

I didn't expect Angela to settle into the seat across the aisle. Dr. Hodgins maneuvered their luggage into the overhead compartment while Angela started unwrapping her scarf.

"I didn't expect to have company in first class," I said.

Angela smiled. "You should try not to make that sound like a bad thing, sweetie."

"No, all I meant was usually I'm alone in first class while Booth rides in coach."

Angela smirked. "Well, there's got to be some perks to being a trophy wife – isn't that right, honey?"

Dr. Hodgins laughed as he hammered Angela's suitcase the rest of the way in. "Damn straight." Then he leaned over, clasped her face in his hands, and kissed her.

My throat constricted and I felt that inexplicable ache below my sternum.

"You're implying that you are a young and attractive status symbol for Dr. Hodgins, who in turn has only earned your affections because of his prodigious capital," I babbled. He kissed her again. "When in fact your partnership is based on parity in physical attractiveness, intellect, and life goals." I trailed off, focused on the glow in Angela's cheeks – _pregnancy hormones,_ I told myself.

Hodgins finally withdrew and sidled into the window seat next to Angela.

She was still smiling when she turned to me. "You've got one thing wrong. I am _absolutely _an attractive status symbol."

I laughed despite myself. I had missed Angela over the past few days. _Most likely her mental and physical preoccupations with her pregnancy has kept her from checking on me at the lab,_ I told myself.

The flight attendant prepared us for take-off. I leaned back and closed my eyes as the engines rumbled. _I wonder if someone will be murdered on this flight,_ I mused. A statistical improbability, for sure, but I'd be improperly applying the law of averages to assert that it was any less likely to happen this time because of past experience.

But my favorite memories from that flight weren't from solving the murder. My favorite memories were from the flight back, when I was giddy on champagne and Booth and I argued over who talked who into our partnership.

"Angela," I started, eyes still closed, "if someone asked you take off your glasses, shake out your hair, and inquire as to the fine for an overdue library book, how would you respond?"

"It depends on who's asking," she giggled.

"What if it was a guy you liked?" I whispered. "You know, _liked-_liked – as you would say."

"Hell, I'd do it." I heard her flip the page of a magazine. "I'd do it and then spank them with a ruler, too, if they wanted."

"What?" I demanded, bolting upright.

"Wow, they really do have all the fun in first class," Booth suddenly said.

"Booth!" I objected, but he was already taking the empty seat next to me. I gave Angela a panicked look. She furrowed her brows at me in disbelief. _"Booth asked?" _she mouthed. I grimaced and shook my head once, fast.

"What's wrong, Bones?" Booth asked, observing the end of my tacit communication with Angela.

"Uh, you shouldn't be in first class, Booth," I said. "The flight attendant will be returning any moment with your complimentary serving of peanuts."

He was reclining his seat. "Aw, just give it a minute, Bones. I'll get up when they come back and say I was looking for the bathroom."

"You should go start a conversation with Dr. Edison," I said. "You know his evidence was key in my father's acquittal."

"Yeah, I was there, Bones," Booth said. "Why did you invite Clark anyway? Isn't spending a weekend with us like his worst nightmare?"

I sighed. I had invited Dr. Edison because I decided this excursion was the perfect opportunity to begin his integration with the forensics team – and especially Agent Booth. Although Mr. Wendell Bray got along better with Booth, Dr. Edison was far more qualified to fill my position when I left the Jeffersonian.

"Dr. Edison isn't just any intern, Booth. He is the most qualified forensic anthropologist of the Jeffersonian interns and thus deserves to join his peers. Unless this conference isn't really as edifying as you made it out to be."

Just then a flight attendant emerged from behind a curtain. Booth hopped out of the seat. I automatically grabbed the in-flight magazine.

Then Booth was whispering in my ear again. "Save me your peanuts if you don't want them."

Now I had to contend with Angela.

"_Booth asked you to do that?"_ she hissed as soon as the peanut-dispensing flight attendant disappeared.

"Don't be ridiculous, Angela," I laughed, pretending to focus on the magazine. "I just thought your turn in the conversation would embarrass Agent Booth."

"Huh. Right," she said, opening her own magazine again. She was silent for a minute. I tried to focus on the article in front of me, but couldn't seem to get past the first sentence. Then, "You know that's mean, right? Teasing me with something like that? Now I'm all hot and bothered thinking about the two of you spanking–"

"Jeez, is that stuff all you guys talk about?" Booth interrupted.

I could feel my eyes reflexively widen, and from the smirk on Angela's face, she saw it.

"Thanks for the peanuts," Booth said, snitching my packet from the armrest.

"You're welcome," I snapped. I didn't want the peanuts, now, anyway. I turned the page in the magazine, hoping the next article would capture my attention. I should've brought a book, but I had been planning to write some of my novel during the flight. There was no way I was opening _that_ in front of Angela and Booth.

And now if Booth left, Angela would pester me about the librarian incident – which was evidently some sort of sexual innuendo.

"So, Booth, Hannah must not have been pleased about your sudden business trip," I offered.

Booth shifted in his seat and popped a few peanuts into his mouth. "She's a big girl," he said. "Besides, she said she needed to catch up on some stories she's working on."

"Still corruption among police officers?" I inquired.

He frowned. "No, she told me she'd lay off that until I had some time to work with her."

"You know if I was Hannah I'd seize the opportunity of your absence and immediately return to my more dangerous inquiries," I said. I was only being honest.

Booth was silent for a moment. Then he popped out of his seat and strode back towards coach.

"Booth, I'm sure she's…" But he was already gone.

"So," Angela began. I dug in my purse for my iPod. "Booth has a thing for sexy librarians?"

"I'm putting my headphones on, Angela," I said.

She frowned and settled back into her seat. "Don't think I'll forget this," she threatened.

I pretended I didn't hear her.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: By the way, sorry for if I should be responding to reviews are something and I'm not. I'm a noob, so I'm not familiar with the etiquette. Anyway, all the lectures that happen at the forensic expo are based on real recent forensic science developments. Also the expo itself is based on similar events. All in all, I'm trying to keep this as realistic as possible.**

* * *

Booth's POV

I texted Hannah as soon as I got back to my seat.

_Don't even think about hunting down crooked cops in my absence._

That would be just what I needed – once I get Bones back on track, Hannah decides to get herself shot. Again. I rubbed my hands over my eyes.

"Problems, g-man?" Cam asked.

I groaned. "No more than usual."

"Hey, you wanted to go on this trip," she pointed out.

Clark shot me a brief look but didn't ask a question. He was buried in several academic journals he wanted to read before the expo. What a squint.

It had actually been quite easy to explain my plan to Hannah.

_ "Listen, Hannah, I have an idea to get Bones out of the lab, but it means going away for a few days. It's this crappy forensic science expo."_

_ She looked at the brochure while sipping her Sunday morning coffee. "A partner thing, huh?" she asked._

_ "Yeah," I said. "Partner thing. Well, and all the other squints. So we can cheer her up."_

_ "I know you're worried about her," she mused. "I think this a good idea."_

Now her agreement seemed suspicious. Too quick, perhaps?

I shoved the thought to the side. There was nothing I could do about Hannah – unless I wanted to give her an FBI tail – and right now I should be focused on giving Bones a good time.

Of course as we stood in the lobby of the convention center I was unsure exactly what a good time would be for Bones.

"The impact of racial metric variation in the os coxae on the morphological assessment of sex, non-invasive visualization of maggot masses using CT scanning…"

"That's me, bro," Hodgins said, grabbing the brochure to find the room number.

"Os cox-_ee _Booth, not os cox-_ay_," Bones said. "The os coxae are formed by the fusion of the ilium, ischium, and pubis."

"Oh, hip bone," I said, purposefully teasing her.

"'Hip bone' is an imprecise colloquialism," she objected.

"I'm going to the program on forensic camera classification," Angela said, walking off.

"Dr. Brennan," Clark said, "I was planning on attending the lecture on racial metric variation in the os coxae. Shall I take notes for you, or were you planning on attending as well?"

"Given that the only other lecture at this time seems to fall within the imprecise field of human psychology, I will be joining you," she said.

"So I get to choose between bugs and cameras," Cam lamented.

"Or complete speculation regarding the emotional motivation of violent Italians," Bones offered, referring to the lecture on forensic psychology.

"Cameras it is!" Cam smiled. "Somehow I think Angela will be the most fun."

"What about you, Booth?" Bones asked. "Unfortunately I don't think you'd be able to understand any of these lectures."

"Ha. Thanks Bones," I said.

"I merely meant to imply –"

"It's fine, Bones. My plan is to follow you around all day and annoy you," I said, grinning.

She nodded, lips pursed. "I can attest that you are most qualified in that endeavor."

I caught Clark rolling his eyes, which just made me smile wider.

Four hours later I was pulling Bones out of a different lecture.

"A bulldozer is neither meticulous nor nondestructive, Booth! Not to mention mixing soil horizons!" she practically yelled. A man in the last row frowned and I shot him a smile.

"Keep it down, Bones," I hissed, grabbing her arm. "It's not like they're doing it to your crime scene."

"Damn _straight _they're not doing it to my crime scene!" she snapped as we pushed out the door. I had to stifle a laugh at her "colloquialism."

"You know what, Bones," I said lightly, "next time we're not sure where a body is within a one mile radius, I'll just send you out there with a trowel and let you do your thing."

"And a screen, Booth. Trowel and a screen." She snapped her arm out of my grasp as we emerged into the lobby. Then she whirled around to point a finger in my face. "And I'd like to know the name of the _forensic anthropologist _who decided there was no damage to those remains in Juarez. What about damage to other trace evidence in the soil?"

I raised my hands in surrender.

Bones glanced around the lobby, where numerous vendors had set up booths. "And why is it that the busiest booths all appear to be manned by women approximately between the ages of twenty and thirty-five?"

I laughed. "Come on, Bones, you can figure that one out."

Cam appeared behind us. "I can't take you guys anywhere," she said.

"I hope the question and answer session of that lecture was appropriately ruthless," Bones said to Cam.

"Wow, Dr. Brennan, tell us how you really feel."

"I actually found the trench and shift method intriguing," Clark said, emerging from behind Cam. "As a method of last resort, of course."

I expected Bones to jump all over that one, but then something strange happened. She ground her teeth, took a deep breath, and then said calmly, "Academic inquiry benefits from a diversity of opinions. And Agent Booth agrees with you, Dr. Edison."

Clark straightened a little, pleased by Bones's praise, however faint. She turned away and my eyes followed her. _That was weird._

"I'm not sure where Angela and Hodgins are, but all of the lectures should be over by five," Cam said, examining her watch. "Should we just get dinner back at the hotel?"

"Ho, no, I got reservations!" I said.

Cam raised her eyebrows. "Really. Where?"

"Eh, I got a buddy that knows a place. The reservation is for six, so we have time to go back to the hotel and kick up our heels a bit."

"Great," Cam said. "Just enough time for a drink at the hotel bar."

But I wasn't paying attention to Cam. I was looking at Bones, who had her hands in her pockets and was staring at her shoes like a sad little kid. I wondered if she was thinking of Sully.

I needed to make sure she had fun tonight.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: The last of the double-fluff updates. Depending on who you are that could be good or bad.**

* * *

Brennan's POV

I stood in front of the huge hotel mirror, feeling silly.

I was wearing a turquoise one-shoulder dress, over-the-knee boots, and silky black blazer.

Even with my diminished understanding of the social graces I knew I was probably overdressed.

Angela busted into my room without knocking.

"You know, I'm in that annoying phase where I'm too big to wear my fitted clothes, but maternity clothes make me look like a deflated balloon."

"Regular weight gain during pregnancy is actually primarily responsible for the size of a pregnant woman's belly," I said, alerting Angela to my location in the hotel bathroom. "Also, as a tall woman your belly will probably be smaller relative to the rest of your body."

She leaned against the door, taking in my appearance. "Oh," she said. And then with a smile, "_Oh._"

She was wearing a baby-doll top and skinny jeans.

"I'm overdressed," I said.

"No," she said firmly. "You look perfect. Although you need…" She reached past me into my velvet jewelry roll and pulled out a pair of chandelier earrings.

"That will just make me feel more silly," I protested.

She raised a finger and waved it once to let me know that wasn't happening.

"Can I still wear my _chullo_?" I begged.

"Not a chance."

My phone rang in the elevator.

"What, Booth?" I demanded.

_"It's 5:53 Bones. You planning on joining us for dinner?"_

"I find your recent time spent with the military has coincided with an increase in your rigidity regarding punctuality," I said.

_"Great. We're waiting at the hotel bar."_

I snapped the phone shut.

"I love that you two are bickering again," Angela said.

"What?" I prompted, flustered.

"You know what I mean," she said.

The elevator doors opened.

Booth swiveled in his seat at the bar and saw us.

For a moment it felt like we were back at the Jeffersonian, alone, standing in the middle of the Anok exhibit, just a few inches between us instead of several yards. Except Booth didn't look completely happy. He was staring at me with what Angela called "the smolder" (an apparent darkening of the eyes in moments of sexual arousal due to the involuntary dilation of the pupils) but he wasn't smiling. Briefly I wondered if my physical attractiveness was resulting in his sexual arousal despite his commitment to Hannah, which would explain the smolder as well as the conflicted look.

It was the first time I had thought of Hannah in several hours. I plastered a smile on my face as my chest ached.

"Nice, Dr. B.," Dr. Hodgins said, approaching Angela.

"Thank you, Dr. Hodgins," I said automatically. "You are also pleasing to the eye in the formal accoutrements of your economic station."

"What about my cute outfit?" Angela said.

"More to love, baby," Dr. Hodgins said, encircling her waist with his arms.

"Alright," Booth said, clapping his hands. "The cabs are waiting. Let's hit the road."

There was a shuffle once outside the front door. Dr. Edison walked towards a cab with Angela and Dr. Hodgins while Booth and I split off with Dr. Saroyan.

"Uh, Dr. Edison, why don't you ride with Booth and me," I said. "I'd like to discuss the lecture on the os coxae with you."

I saw Cam shoot Booth a questioning look, but everyone complied. I wanted Booth to see exactly how competent Dr. Edison could be.

Fortunately or not it was incredibly easy to make Dr. Edison seem especially intelligent during the cab ride, because I was almost entirely distracted from our conversation. Booth was wearing that same trench coat from the night in Woodland when I almost confessed my true feelings. I was probably imagining it, but I thought I could still smell the damp city air in his coat, mixed with his own sweet musk and the popcorn-smell of an old cab. I heard each of his close breaths, felt his leg shift against mine with every turn. However irrational, I wanted to turn and bury my nose in his neck, clutch the collar of his coat, and whisper against his skin…

I was lucky to be graced with a brain capable of multi-tasking. At least Dr. Edison didn't seem to notice my distraction.

The restaurant was located on a side-street of Boston's North End, the Italian section of the city. _Pagliuca's _had managed to squeeze two tables together in the middle of their dining room, although just barely. The small restaurant was packed with diners from the original brick walls to the narrow galley kitchen exposed to the bar. I sat down next to Dr. Edison, continuing our conversation, but then Booth suddenly slid my chair around the corner and placed an empty chair between us.

"Booth!" I protested, "Dr. Edison and I were discussing the methods of morphological assessment of –"

"Enough with the bones, Bones," he said, and then sat himself in the chair between myself and Dr. Edison. I felt a tingle again at the base of my spine, disproportionately pleased that he wanted to sit next to me. Then he reached back to slip my coat off my shoulders.

I was perfectly capable of removing my own coat. But I didn't protest. I let his hands brush against my neck as he pulled off the coat, and then I shrugged out of the blazer underneath. He was silent for a moment. I chanced a glance at him out of the corner of my eye and smiled. He smiled back, then handed me a menu.

Angela looked especially beautiful in the candlelight, and astounded Booth when she cleaned not only her own plate, but the remainder of her husband's. Dr. Saroyan talked Booth, Dr. Edison, and me into buying a bottle of overpriced wine, which we valiantly finished. Even Dr. Edison surprised us all with a few personal stories of his time in Chicago. I can honestly say I had fun – so much fun that when my hand brushed against the cut underneath my dress I was angry at myself for doing something so pointless.

When Booth said the word "dessert" we all groaned.

"I think I'd have to digest the baby to make room, Booth," Angela said.

"Come on, it's walking distance. We'll burn off the calories walking, then get stuff to take back to the hotel," Booth wheedled.

"I'd consider dessert if we were able to take it back to the hotel," I conceded.

"I'll walk with you, but I'm not buying anything," Cam said.

"Angie'll probably want dessert later," Dr. Hodgins said.

"Majority rules!" Booth announced. "Dessert it is."

It felt good to walk after all that eating, although Angela grumbled about wanting a nap. The main street was lit by twinkle lights, red and green neon signs, and lampposts. Bakery doors swung open, releasing gusts of steam that smelled of fresh bread. A pair of old men in hats sat in folding chairs in an alley, talking in swift Italian.

"You know I've noticed there's no snow on the ground, Booth," I pointed out, gesturing at the gutters.

"Have a little faith, Bones," he said. "Have a little faith."

A triangular yellow sign protruded from the shop's elegant façade. "Mike's Pastry," Booth announced, ushering us through the doors.

"Are you going to get pie, Booth?" I asked, approaching the bakery counter. I felt my cheeks flush with the sudden warmth. When I turned around Booth was right there, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. Inexplicably my skin seemed to burn in the trail of his touch.

"Nah, Bones," he said, smiling, "not unless you get some."

"Ha, nice try," I retorted. "I'm getting a slice of chocolate cheesecake."

Angela, Dr. Hodgins, and Dr. Saroyan were over by the cookies – Angela had already started a box.

Suddenly Booth's arm was around my waist and he was looking in the same case, face inches from mine. "You know we could try a few things if we shared," he murmured.

"Hmm, a clever suggestion, Agent Booth."

I walked out with a gallon-sized cardboard box tied with blue-and-white pastry string.

When we returned to the hotel everyone seemed to go their separate ways. Angela was insisting on her nap, followed by Dr. Hodgins, while Dr. Saroyan said she needed to call Michelle. For a moment Booth and I stood with Dr. Edison, but then he was walking backwards, saying, "I'm gonna leave you two to it."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

Booth shrugged. "So. Dessert. My room or yours?"

"Mine," I said.

"I like a woman that knows what she wants."


	13. Chapter 13

Booth's POV

Having dessert with my partner in her hotel room was totally normal. It was something we did all the time before I went to Afghanistan. Well, not in hotels. But I'd stop by her place with some Thai, or she'd show up with a piece of pie from the diner. It was my own hang-ups that had kept me from dropping by her place and the lab these path few months. Hell, I'd abandoned Bones to some guy named "Micah" I'd never even met, all because I was a coward. What was I afraid of, that Bones was going to seduce me? Please. I was in love with Hannah.

Not that Bones's outfit tonight was helping my cause. But Bones was a beautiful woman; there was no sense in pretending that wasn't true. It's like when she told me my face was symmetrical; like appreciating art.

So when she told me she was going to change into something more comfortable, of course my thoughts flitted to Bones naked – for just a moment. Nothing that wasn't dispelled by a little ESPN.

"You know how I feel about professional sports, Booth," she said, emerging from the bathroom.

She was wearing oversized FBI sweatpants, fleece socks, and a Jeffersonian sweatshirt. I grinned from my seat on the floor next to the bed.

"Bones, I happen to know you bought those sweatpants from the men's department."

"Yes, well all the pants intended for females seemed to have lettering on the posterior surface," she huffed.

I laughed. "You mean they said 'FBI' on the ass, don't you."

She sat down on the bed next to me, grumbling. "Congratulations, Agent Booth, you've finally learned the meaning of 'posterior.'" She scooted back into the pillows. "If we're going to watch something juvenile I at least need to be eating cake."

I slipped the string off the Mike's Pastry box and handed her a plastic fork. She swiped a bite of the chocolate cheesecake. ESPN went to commercial so I set the box on the bed and switched channels.

"So what do you like, Bones, huh? The National Geographic Channel?"

"I find their programs to be too vulgarized for my tastes," she said.

"I know, right?" I said. "Have you seen the 'Taboo' program with the nudists? Never the people you want to see naked."

"Vulgar_ized_, not _vulgar_, Booth. Vulgarized means dumbed-down."

"Exactly," I said, and lopped off the end of the lobster-tail.

"What is that anyway?" she asked, gesturing to the lobster-tail pastry.

I savored the flavors. "Eh, it's pretty vanilla."

"As in incorporating the extract of an orchid of the genus _Vanilla_ or colloquially, as in plain or boring?" she asked.

"Heh, listen to you and your colloquialisms," I snorted.

"Listen to this fun fact." She sounded excited. I kept an ear open while I turned back to check the score on ESPN. "The colloquial term _vanilla_ is often used to describe sex in the missionary position, while the Spanish word _vanilla_ is derived from the Latin _vagina,_ meaning 'sheath.'"

"Ah, God," I groaned, setting down the lobster-tail. "Why do you have to do that, Bones?"

"What?" she protested. "It's a funny coincidence."

"Funny coincidence in my mouth, Bones. In my _mouth._"

"Ha! That's what she said."

I couldn't believe those words just came out of her mouth. "Who taught you that?" I demanded, eyes wide.

"Angela," she laughed. _Of course. _"Although I admit this is the first time I've understood the humor."

"You talk to your mother with that mouth, Bones?" I asked. And immediately regretted it. _Stupid._

Her face went all still and composed and she said, "Of course not, Booth. You're the one that believes in talking to the deceased, remember?"

"Sorry Bones," I whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous, Booth. I'm fine."

She wouldn't meet my eyes.

_Good job, Seeley._

She snatched the remote from my slack hand and flipped to a debate on public television.

I cast around for something to lighten the mood and my eyes alighted on Bones's socks.

"Those are some fancy fleece socks, Bones. Did a Mexican lady knit those from her goat, too?" I tried to get as many details wrong as possible, just to give her an excuse to correct me.

"They were a gift from Emma and Hayley." Russ's step-daughters.

Flip to the other public television channel, this time with some whale program on.

"So which foot was it?" I asked, squeezing the toes on her left foot.

"What?" she asked, focused on the dialogue about the Great Humpback.

I wiggled her foot. "Which foot did you hurt?"

I saw her jaw tighten. "Why?" she asked, clearly trying to sound casual. Like she could pull one over on me.

I whipped off her left sock.

"Booth!" she shrieked, scrabbling up the headboard. "What the hell!"

"What's the matter?" I said, trying to sound playful, but it came out all wrong.

"That's… _creepy,_" she snapped, pointing at me with the fork. "Now give me back my sock!"

I didn't even mean to start an investigation. I wasn't even thinking about my revelation from the airplane. _No bloody footprints. _But now I had gone and put my foot in it – no pun intended.

Of course, I had also proved that something strange had happened that night, something Bones didn't want to tell me.

"Fine," I said, and handed over the sock. She tugged it on quickly, then pulled back the covers so she could slip her feet out of view.

"I'm tired, Booth," she said, pulling the sheets taught over her legs. "Why don't you just put the desserts in the minifridge."

"Yeah, sure," I said.

But I stopped at her door before I left.

"See you tomorrow, Bones?"

It was a question, and I wasn't sure how she'd answer.

"Of course, Booth," she said lightly. Then after a pause, "Thank you for the pleasant evening. It's nice to spend time with you."

"Back at you, Bones," I said.

"I understand that you don't have as much free time now that you've found a significant other, but this has been an enjoyable change in routine."

She was telling me she missed me.

"Good," I said, but I was feeling guilty again.

"Tell Hannah I said hello."

"What?" Where did that come from?

"I presumed you'd call her before falling asleep. Tell her I said hello."

"Right," I said. Bones really did seem to genuinely like Hannah. "I'll do that, Bones. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Booth," she said breezily.

* * *

**A/N: You didn't think it would be that easy, did you? Sorry if I disappointed anyone - still a lot to be resolved!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Back to angst and one update-a-day. However, this chapter came out kind of long, so that's good. Also, props to all of you that recognized some of the most delicious food in Boston!**

* * *

Brennan's POV

_It's dark. My footsteps echo on stone floors._

_ "Sí, tengo la zorra," a man says, and then someone grabs my elbow. In the dim light I can see we are walking a narrow passageway._

_ "I'm American," I say. "Soy de los Estados Unidos!"_

_ "Shut up," the man says in accented English._

_ A man lifts a grate from the floor before us._

_ "Who are you? __Déjeme hablar__ con__ su __jefe__!"_

_I'm pushed. I fall against packed dirt. I scramble to my feet but my head is pushed down. _

_ "No!" I cry, but the metal grate presses against my skull, forcing me to bend to my knees. I throw my hands up, linking my fingers in the grate, but it merely rattles against a padlock. My shoulders bump against the dirt walls and my feet are already tingling from impeded circulation._

_ I rattle the bars on my cage, panicked. "No –" _

"NO!"

I bolted upright in bed.

I extended my legs fully and bent at the waist, resting my head on my covered knees.

_ You're in a hotel in Boston._

I focused on the sound of the traffic outside, white noise like running water.

I glanced at the hotel alarm clock: 5:43 a.m. Not a bad night of sleep, comparatively speaking.

I pulled my laptop from its case on the bedside table, powered up, and waited to open the latest draft of my novel.

As usual, no one could notice the difference between this morning and any other. I had adapted to a somewhat inadequate sleep schedule, and any additional grumpiness could be disguised as a common distaste for the morning hours. We all bought overpriced coffee and croissants from a café across the street from the convention center, then separated to either peruse the booths or attend additional lectures. Booth slept through the lecture on the citrate content of bone as a potential determinant of postmortem interval, which of course in my opinion proved to be the most valuable presentation. At lunch we decided to skip the overpriced café from breakfast in favor of food from the concession stand. Given the dubious origin of the food I had to satisfy my hunger with an unadorned garden salad and tomato soup. Dubious origins did not stop the rest of my companions from ordering nachos, tuna fish sandwiches, and french-fries.

"So, Dr. Edison," I began as soon as we sat down, "how would you apply the substance of the lecture on the citrate content of bone to our lab environment?"

"Give poor Clark a break, Dr. Brennan," Cam said. "You've been quizzing him ever since we landed in Boston."

"On the contrary, Dr. Saroyan," I said, "I've been quite interested to hear Dr. Edison's interpretation of the evidence presented at this conference."

Everyone was staring at me, including Dr. Edison.

"What?" I demanded.

"You never care what the interns think, Dr. B.," Dr. Hodgins said. "No offense, Clark." Clark shrugged.

"Well," I said, "I really consider Dr. Edison more of a colleague than an intern." I blew on the tomato soup in my Styrofoam cup. I was sure they'd all remember this incident as evidence they should put their trust in Dr. Edison.

"Okay…" Angela said. "Anyway, I actually found the lecture on reconstructing machinery-related deaths quite interesting. And I thought Jack just wanted me to go so he could talk about how OSHA's in bed with the heavy industry in Texas."

Booth's phone rang. "Booth," he answered.

"You're just lucky I didn't bring up BP," Hodgins grumbled.

"What's up, Hannah?" Booth said. The conversation at the table quieted. I tried to focus on my salad and not listen to Booth's phone conversation. "Uh, yeah, we just got food at the concession stand. … What do you mean?" He pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at it. "She hung up on me," he said.

"But seriously, have you read OSHA's report on BP?" Dr. Hodgins continued.

"Ugh," Angela groaned. "That wasn't an invitation, Jack."

I looked up and my eyes snagged on a tall, slender blond in faded corduroys and khaki blazer. She was a few yards behind Booth and when she saw me looking she smiled and placed a finger to her lips.

A smile was frozen on my face but it inexplicably felt like my heart was sagging in my chest. I forced a forkful of salad into my mouth.

Then Hannah was close enough to throw her arms around Booth's shoulders. For a second he looked at the pale hands on his chest, then he whirled around.

"Hannah? What are you doing here?"

In my peripheral vision I discerned they were kissing. I focused intently on my soup, trying to estimate the temperature and volume of each spoonful, then the rate of cooling if I blew on it.

"No, seriously, what are you doing here?" Booth asked.

I found I wasn't hungry anymore, and by the time I swallowed the spoonful it tasted lukewarm and sour. I placed the lid on the soup and pushed it away from me.

"My boss decided he wanted me to follow the Vice President to a last-minute business meeting. I thought about not telling you, but then decided it would actually be creepier to be in the same city as my boyfriend without telling him."

"Wow," Booth said. "Hey, do you want to join us?"  
"Don't be ridiculous, Booth," I heard myself say. "This food is terrible. You should take Hannah somewhere nice, like Pagliuca's."

Booth glanced between Hannah and me.

"Nah, this is partner time," Hannah said. "I was just stopping by to say hi."

"No," I insisted. "Booth doesn't even understand the lectures. Logically he would far more enjoy spending his afternoon with a beautiful woman."

"You're beautiful, too, Bones," Booth said. I laughed forcefully and speared some lettuce with my fork. But my cheeks were burning and my heart was pounding painfully. _Just leave me alone,_ I begged internally, _go away and let me bury myself in a lecture._

"Well, I don't need to be anywhere for another two hours. That's probably enough time to eat," Hannah reasoned.

"Bones, are you sure?" asked Booth.

"Of course," I said, not making eye contact.

"Well, let's meet tonight for dinner. All of us."

"Sure," I said. I gathered my trash into the empty plastic salad tray and got up to throw it away.

Angela was on me a few moments later. "What's with that? First she follows him to D.C., now she follows him on a three-day business trip? Textbook clinger."

"Hannah is just on assignment, Angela," I said. "And I can tell you think it's necessary to portray Hannah negatively in order to… flatter my ego or something, but it's _not_ necessary." I purposefully took out the expo brochure in my pocket to look for a likely lecture.

"Hey, it's called being a good friend," Angela said, putting a hand on my arm.

"Well, Booth is your friend, too, so you should be nice to his girlfriend," I argued, striding in the direction of an auditorium.

Angela matched my pace. "I _am _nice to Hannah. To her face."

"Angela!" I protested.

"Where are we going, anyway?" she asked, pulling me to a stop.

"There's a lecture at one-thirty p.m. on a Bayesian approach to age estimation from the clavicle," I said, "and I want to get a good seat."

"Right," she said, folding her arms. "Just know you aren't fooling me. I let you off the hook after that last case, but don't think I've forgotten about that either."

I felt my heart rate increase at the thought of an interrogation from Angela. I composed my calmest, most neutral expression.

"I'm fine, Angela. Really. I look forward to seeing you at dinner."

And then I walked away.

I was the first one in the auditorium. Only the footlights on the stage illuminated the auditorium. I mounted the steps to the farthest corner, sat in a seat that reminded me of the movie theatre, and let the emotion come.

"_All that we get are these dim, staticky messages from the universe. … I got the signal, Booth. I don't want to have any regrets."_

I wept silently, my sobs only evident in the trembling of my shoulders.

The past two days had felt like old times, back when it was just Booth and me, when he made me feel… special. Beautiful. Quirky. Safe. I had soaked up those feelings again, like a sponge, and softened almost completely to the state of thoughtless happiness and vulnerability in which I existed a year ago.

Then Hannah showed up again to remind me. I was getting a message from the universe, alright, but it wasn't dim or staticky. Booth was gone. Like Booth's ex Rebecca had said a long time ago, I had missed my moment.

For a moment I envisioned the group of women Booth had left in his wake – me, Rebecca, probably Catherine and Tessa, not to mention whatever poor girls he dated in college and high school. Probably even Vanessa from under the bleachers thought about Booth sometimes.

Then I remembered Cam and laughed quietly in spite of myself. At least one of us was immune to his charms.

_Alright,_ I thought. I'd leave the Jeffersonian like Booth had tacitly suggested. I'd still think about him sometimes, but hopefully I could be like Rebecca – the memories would be sweet, not painful.

Of course, I was realistic in acknowledging that would take time.

When the lecture was over there wasn't another I was interested in attending. Instead I visited some of the booths, though most were vendors. I paused at one booth set up by the U.S. Postal Inspectors; they had a terminal on display that showed an apparent slideshow of images. The locations seemed to share no commonalities, but every image had significant portions blurred or blacked out.

"What is this?" I asked, approaching the booth.

"Sanitized images of child pornography," the man clicking through the images answered. "With unidentified victims. On the off-chance that one of us law enforcement-types would recognize something."

"Oh," I murmured, watching the images flash past. The series of pictures he was looking at were set in the interior of a house. The wood paneling on the wall was graying. The setting seemed vaguely familiar.

My eerie reverie was interrupted by an unexpected voice calling my name.

"Tempe?"


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: One of you guessed who called Brennan's name... and for those of you sadists who needed Booth to be in pain, too, tune in :-)**

* * *

Booth's POV

I waited at a sports bar while Hannah met her interview subject. I didn't really care who she was talking to – politics just annoyed me. I understood the concept of civilian leadership of the military, but moments like the Black Hawk incident in Somalia made me really hate the political leadership. Hell, our guys were trained to kill people, not perform humanitarian missions. Now the politicians wanted death machines and nation builders all in one.

Not to mention how politicians valued appearance over substance. I was a substance man, every time, and that was why I'd probably never get promoted past Special Agent.

The door swung open and Hannah entered.

"Get anything good?" I asked, but my eyes were on the television mounted overhead.

"Just the party line. But off the record he gave me an interesting lead."

"Good," I said. _Keep her away from those crooked cops. _"We're meeting everyone at Legal Sea Foods. Sound good?"

"Eating fish in Boston seems appropriate."

During the cab ride I texted Cam.

_You guys there yet?_

A moment later she responded.

_At the bar. Brace yourself – another surprise visitor._

Who could that be? For a moment I wondered if Hacker would be enough of an ass-hat to follow Bones to Boston. It didn't seem likely. Could Clark surprise us with a secret ex-girlfriend or something?

"What's wrong?" Hannah asked.

I frowned. "Evidently they met up with someone else at the expo."

The wind was hard off the bay when we stepped out of the cab. Night had already fallen and the city lights glittered on the water. Huddled against the cold we jogged across the boardwalk and into the restaurant.

It took me a moment to get oriented. High paneled ceilings, golden lighting, colored glass panels. Hannah dragged me towards the bar. "I see them," she said.

I heard Bones laugh but I could only see Angela, sitting on the end. Hannah darted through the thick crowds, beating me to the bar. Then I heard Bones.

"Hannah Burley, I'd like you to meet Special Agent Tim Sullivan."

_No._

I threw my weight between the two last people and then he was right in front of me, an arm thrown over Temperance's shoulder.

"Actually I'm not with the FBI, anymore, but I like the title," he said, giving Hannah's hand a firm shake. "Call me Sully."

Hannah's mouth made a little "o" and she looked back to me. The bar was quieting and all I could hear was my heart hammering in my ears. Bones's hair was soft on Sully's shoulder and her cheeks were just a little flushed. Her eyes were sparkling in the low light and she had that goofy smile on her face.

_God, I'm going to lose her._

"Booth!" Sully crowed. Before I knew it he had me in a bear hug.

When he released me the roar of the restaurant came back to me.

"Sully. What are you doing here?" I said. "What happened to the, uh, the boat?"

"I'm in private security, now, man," Sully said. "I met this guy, a retired spook, down in the Bahamas. We started our own company."

"He says the amount of money he makes is obscene," Bones said.

_Great. Rub it in, Bones. _

"Woah-ho," Sully laughed. "I'm glad you haven't lost your endearing candor."

"What?" Bones said, all wide-eyed.

"Nah, it's good, keeps things fresh," Sully said. "Should we get a table?"

Everybody gathered up their coats. I was still just looking at him. He looked the same, mostly. Maybe a little more tan, some gray hair around the temples. A George Clooney-type.

"Hey, this is okay, right?" Sully asked, stopping me as the rest followed a hostess.

"What?" I said.

"I mean, I'm not crashing, am I?" he asked.

"Of course not," I said, forcing my jaw to unwind. Of course it was fine for Sully to be here. _You like Sully, _I reminded myself. I adjusted my cocky belt buckle and led the way to the table.

Sully was always great in a crowd. He'd had enough different careers to have a wealth of funny stories, particularly from the early days of his work in private security, mostly protecting overgrown frat boys in the Bahamas.

"Booth could never do your type of work," Bones said.

"Why not?" I interjected.

"Because you harbor a deep resentment towards the upper classes. I'm sure you'd rather… punch Sully's clients than protect them."

I took a long swig of my beer.

"But Booth has that crazy sixth sense with people," Sully said. "Tell you what, man, there's always a job open for you."

Sully held out a card. I took it, gave a mock salute with my beer, and then shoved the card in my back pocket. Work for Sully. Right.

"So, you two are still doing your lab and field thing?" Sully asked.

"Yeah," I answered shortly.

"Actually I was recently in the Maluku Islands looking for ancient remains," Bones said.

She had never looked that excited when she told me about it. But then I realized I had never really asked her about what she was doing in Maluku. She probably didn't think a lunk like me would understand it.

Everybody else filled in the conversation where I might have been lacking. I focused on my french-fries and calamari. At one point Hannah laced her fingers with mine under the table, and I lifted our hands and set them in clear view on the table. She was a great woman. Powerful. Great hair. I suddenly leaned over and slammed my lips against hers.

The table fell silent.

"Wow, what was that?" Hannah said as I withdrew.

I gave half a smile. "You just look nice tonight, that's all."

"Okay," she said, reaching for her wine. I ran my hand along her thigh underneath the table. She was something to hold on to. I felt her muscles tense underneath my touch.

"If it's alright Dr. Saroyan I think I'm going to make it an early night," Clark said, long-suffering.

"Uh, okay," Cam said, but she was looking at me when she said it, eyes thinned. I raised my eyebrows as if to say, _"What? Bring it on, Cam."_

"I find I'm not at all tired," Bones said loudly. "Maybe you'd be interested in showing me some of the city, Sully?"

I unconsciously squeezed Hannah's thigh. She choked on a sip of wine and started coughing.

"My schedule's open," Sully said. He stood up to help her into her coat. My heart was hammering in my ears again. Hannah was still coughing. Bones swung her hair over her shoulders and slipped her arms into her wool trench. The light slipped across her cheek bones, down the hollow in her throat. When she turned she smiled and pulled Sully's hand into her own, swinging it a little, like Parker would.

My heart stuttered. I was back in front of the Hoover and she was pushing me away, tears in her eyes.

_Just give it a chance, that's all I'm asking._

She was walking away, sashaying between the tables, leading Sully out of the restaurant.

_Why didn't you give me a chance, Bones? What does Sully have that I didn't?_

Hannah stopped coughing. "Is it alright that I didn't get my own hotel room?" she murmured.

"Absolutely," I said, and swung my arm around her shoulders.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Several important notes. First, the POV will switch multiple times in this story. It's supposed to compare and contrast Bones and Booth. Second, I debated whether or not to take this chapter to the M level. I decided to keep it T so as not to alienate any readers (yet), so hopefully I've hit the right note of a steamy, bridled, almost-not-T.**

* * *

I gripped the lapels of his jacket and slammed him against the door.

"Woah, you haven't changed –" I silenced him with my lips. "A bit," he finished as we separated for air. I felt his hand moving as he fished for the keys in his pocket. He kissed me again, sweetly, and slipped a hand behind my neck, cradling my head.

I deepened the kiss.

Then my back slammed against the door.

"Just let me get…" he started, but I captured his lower lip. "Tempe," he protested, pulling back, "just let me get the damn key!"

The lock clicked and I stumbled backwards, out of his arms and into the dark apartment.

_No. No separation. No time to think._

The door slammed shut behind him just in time for me to press him against it again.

_You need this. _

* * *

Her lips tasted like sweet berry lip gloss. She never tasted like lip gloss – she was a chapstick girl.

"You dressed up for me," I said, breathing heavily.

Bones dressed up last night. And now she was probably getting undressed.

_No. _

_Hannah._

I walked Hannah backwards until she hit the gold wall of the elevator. I placed my hands on either side of her head and focused on the taste of her lip gloss. Then I worked my way over to her ear.

"You need to shave," she murmured breathlessly.

"Never complained in Afghanistan," I growled against her throat and she giggled.

The elevator doors opened and I dragged her out by the hand, jogging towards the room, keycard in hand. Then we were inside and I was pressing her back against the door, focusing on the pace of her breathing, the hitches, the sighs, the smell of her hair, the feel of her pressed against my chest.

* * *

I slipped my hand down his chest, ran my fingers along his waistband. I heard his muffled moan from the direction of my throat.

"Given your prodigious size and that it's been about a year since my last copulation –"

"You want me to go slow?" Sully asked, then closed his lips around my earlobe.

"No," I laughed. I tugged on his belt and he leaned away so that I could undo the latch. "I was going to say I expect to reach orgasm at least twice."

He grabbed my hips and found my mouth.

I kissed back harder. Sully should know I liked it rough. _Not like how Booth kisses._

My throat tightened but I set my hands to the task of undoing the buttons on Sully's shirt. I wanted more skin, closer, harder. I wanted Sully to make me feel wanted.

* * *

I whipped Hannah's shirt over her head. Her face was flushed, hair mussed. I slipped my hands around her hips and without even asking she jumped and threw her legs around my waist. I walked us towards the bed and fell backwards. Hannah straddled my lap and started undoing the buttons on my shirt.

_Sully's fingers finish the buttons on Bones's shirt, she's breathing fast – _

I flipped us. Hannah just locked her ankles behind my back as I buried my nose between her breasts. She smelled like almonds.

She yanked my shirt off my shoulders, but it caught at the cuffs. I lifted myself off her to tug it totally off, then dove to kiss her lips, her slender throat, her freckled shoulder.

_Pale, soft skin. She sweeps her brown hair from her shoulders – _

For a moment the adrenaline faded, the arousal dulled and my head hurt –

_Hannah. Focus on Hannah._

"Take it off," I said, snapping her bra strap.

* * *

"Where's the bed?" I demanded, throwing my own coat to the floor.

"I like a woman who knows what she wants," he said.

A pain in the chest. He had spoken those words just last night.

_His eyes sparkle as Hannah reveals herself before him, fair and slender like a candle, a perfect example of the golden ratio._

I yanked Sully towards me, jerking off his left sleeve and then the right.

"No fair," he said. "You have way too many clothes on."

I kicked off my shoes. "If you don't show me the bed the counter will have to do," I said, nodding towards the kitchen area. Then I pressed him backwards against the cabinets, running my hands over his pectorals. His hands dropped to my waist, fingers slipping along the hem of my blouse, then upwards, thumbs brushing my belly button, fingertips tickling the edge of my ribs –

"No," I blurted, and pushed myself backwards.

The panic came fast and hard, adrenaline whistling through my blood vessels like a train. I wrapped my hands protectively around my waist. The wood floors were cold against my feet.

_Stupid! _Why didn't I remember the cut? How could I have forgotten? I might have been able to lie and tell Sully I had been grazed in a knife fight, but now it was too late. I had made a scene of my weakness.

_The most stupid, irrational, illogical thing you've done in your life,_ I cursed at myself. I hated that cut – like a talisman it reminded me of that night with Booth, haunted me, and made me push away the people I wanted. For one night, I just wanted to feel beautiful and powerful and close to someone again. Now I felt more alone and exposed than ever.

I felt the pressure building behind my eyes, the tightening of my diaphragm, and bent to pull back on my shoes.

"Uh, did I do something wrong?" Sully asked.

"No, I – I'm sorry, I just – I can't." Then he was down at my level, handing me my other shoe. I snatched it from his hand and hid my face behind a curtain of hair as I shoved it on my foot. Then I swept my coat from the floor and shrugged it on.

"Tempe, talk to me," he said.

"It's not you, it's me," I stuttered.

"Did you get that line from a movie?" he asked, tone laced with disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Sully. Really." I strode for the door. I needed to get out.

"Hang on –" he grabbed my arm and I reacted, twisting and snapping his grip. "Ow!" he cried.

"Sorry!" I said. "I'm sorry, my reflexes –"

"Just can I give you a ride?" he asked, cradling his wrist.

And then I had to say yes.

We spent the ride to the hotel in silence. I managed to keep my breathing even and the tears at bay. I focused on the passing neon signs, the glimpses of the bay, the mannequins in storefronts. I had only been to Boston once before, to meet with a professor at MIT. I hadn't had time to sight-see.

A block from the hotel Sully said, "You know, I thought Booth was with Hannah."

"He is," I said automatically, then realized what he was implying. "Booth and I are still just partners, Sully."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," he muttered. I didn't dignify that with a response.

When I stepped out of the car Sully stopped me.

"Hey, Tempe, listen. I don't know what happened tonight, but I'm still happy I bumped into you. I'd really like to see you again, even just for coffee. Talking."

He was holding out one of his cards. I took it and held it for a moment. Then, "I'd like that." Maybe I'd call him in a few weeks, when I had healed.

I slammed the door and jogged into the hotel.

* * *

I stalked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I had gotten what I wanted – a few moments of blank, thoughtless oblivion.

I put two hands on the bathroom counter and hung my head.

I felt nauseous, but I didn't want to think about why. I didn't want to think about Hannah, naked in my bed, or Bones, naked in Sully's bed. I just needed to take a goddamn shower and sleep.

I raised my head and looked in the mirror. A muscle in my jaw jumped. I held my own gaze in a staring contest, proving to myself that I could handle what I saw.

_Is it worth your thirty or forty years, Seeley?_

My skin dewed with steam and sweat.

_You haven't done anything wrong,_ I told myself. _You are in a committed, monogamous relationship. Lose the Catholic guilt, choir boy._

I shoved off from the counter and walked into the spray.


	17. Chapter 17

Booth's POV

_"There's a train leaving at 9:30," _said Cam._ "I booked six, I hope that's okay."_

It took a moment for my mind to catch up – she was thinking of Hannah. "Hannah's staying for a few days," I said. I pinched the phone between my ear and my shoulder so I could finish shoving my clothes into my bag. Hannah emerged from the bathroom and tossed my shaving kit on the bed.

"It's started," Hannah said. I looked out the window and saw a few flakes swirl past.

_"I'm already at the station," _said Cam. _"I'm relying on you to make sure everyone gets here on time."_

"Yeah, I got it," I said. I flipped my phone shut and shoved it in the pocket of my coat. "You sure you're okay staying?" I asked Hannah.

"Absolutely," she said.

"Maybe I should reserve this room for you," I said.

"I'm fine," Hannah said, "but if you don't get everyone out of here soon you'll be stuck in Boston with me, too."

"Right," I said. I leaned in for a quick peck and left the room.

I almost collided with Clark in the hallway. "Did you get Cam's call?" I asked.

"Yeah. Our flight's canceled. She booked a train from South Station."

"Great," I said, slapping his back. He stumbled a step forward but recovered well. "You seen Hodgins and Angela?" I asked.

"Uh, no."

"Watch my suitcase, will ya?"

I was already striding towards the stairs. Hodgins had upgraded to a suite on the top floor – of course. Three flights later I heard someone on the stairs above me.

"That you, Booth?"

I leaned over the railing and looked up to see Hodgins leaning down from a higher floor.

"You got Cam's call?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Angela's moving a little slowly but I swear we'll be in the lobby in ten minutes."

"Don't make me come back," I said. I thundered back down the stairs.

My cell phone rang.

"Booth."

_"Booth it's me." _Cam again. _"Dr. Brennan isn't answering her cell phone. Can you try?"_

_Great. _I busted back into a hallway.

"_Aaaand if she doesn't pick up you might want to try Sully."_

I swallowed.

"Sure," I said and hung up. I hit Bones on speed dial. Sure enough, I got her voicemail.

"Our flight was canceled on account of there being a snowstorm," I said after the beep. "Call me or Cam as soon as you get this. We're leaving from South Station at 9:30."

I reached her room and banged on the door.

"Bones, you in there?"

No answer.

I leaned my arm against the door and just paused for a second, collecting my thoughts.

I had to call Sully.

I figured it was better to do it fast, like ripping off a band-aid. I retrieved his card from my back pocket and dialed the digits.

_"Sullivan," _he answered.

"Sully it's Booth. Is Bones there?"

_"Eh – how'd you get this number?"_ His voice was thick with sleep.

"You gave me your card, dumbass, remember?" _Just answer the goddamn question, Sully._

_"Oh, right. Yeah. Um, I dropped Dr. Brennan at the hotel last night – eight o'clock maybe?" _My heart accelerated and I got this ridiculous hopeful feeling that could possibly be described as glee. "Dr. Brennan" was way too formal for Sully, and there was no way Bones only took one hour for sex when she had the whole night. They hadn't slept together. _"Why, is she missing?"_

"Uh, no," I said. "But we need to make a train. Thanks." I hung up.

The hope suddenly turned into mild panic. If she wasn't in her hotel room and she wasn't with Sully, where was she?

When I got to the lobby Angela, Hodgins, and Clark were all waiting. I strode straight to the front desk and flashed my badge.

"I'm Agent Booth with the FBI. Can you tell me if Dr. Temperance Brennan checked out this morning?"

The young attendant gave me a deer in the headlights look, then started typing.

"Uh, yes, sir. She checked out at 7:00 a.m."

Seven? Where did she go?

"Thanks," I said.

"What was that about?" Angela asked, arms crossed.

"I can't find Bones," I said.

She shifted. "Did you, uh… did you check with Sully?" she asked, apologetic.

I ignored her sympathetic look and answered, "Sully dropped her off last night."

"Oh," Angela said, brow furrowed.

"I haven't seen her, man," Hodgins said.

"Nor I," chimed in Clark.

"Right," I said.

There was only one other obvious place she might be.

"Listen, you guys head to South Station. There's no point in us all missing the train. I'm going to check for Bones at the convention center."

"What about your luggage?" Clark asked.

"I'll ask them to keep it at the front desk."

The snow was swirling faster as I dashed down the sidewalk. Bundled commuters barely looked up from their muffled faces as I jogged past. The convention center was only a few blocks away, but my face felt blistered with cold by the time I passed under the glass entryway. I busted through the front doors and gave a few mad glances.

It was too early for any lectures, but some of the lobby booths were in business. Then I heard her: "Yes, I'm absolutely positive."

She was standing at the U.S. Postal Inspectors booth, still wearing her coat, rolling suitcase propped next to her.

I jogged up. "Bones, what the hell!"

She was startled by my call. "Booth, what are you doing here?" Like she really had no idea.

"Didn't you get Cam's phone call? _Or_ mine?"

"Of course, Booth," she said, "that's why I'm packed." Then she turned back to the Postal Inspectors.

"I don't make mistakes. I don't have time for this." She grabbed a pad of paper from their table and scrawled her contact info. "Call me if you need further assistance," she snapped, then grabbed her case and rolled away as if I wasn't even there.

I shot the Postal Inspector a glance but he just shrugged. "She was waiting for us when we got here," he said.

I jogged after Bones, who was striding for the exit.

"Where's your luggage, Booth?" she asked.

"Back at the hotel – what was that about?" I demanded, gesturing back to the booth.

She shrugged and pushed the door open. "I recognized some architecture from one of the sanitized images of child pornography I had seen yesterday. I arrived early this morning to tell them. You better get your luggage or you might miss the train."

It took a second for me to process everything coming out of her mouth. She unzipped the front pocket of her suitcase and pulled out her ugly hat.

"Wait – you recognized something in a picture of kiddie porn?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yes, an architectural motif indicative of a certain geographic area and era," she answered. "I thought it might be helpful in identifying the victim depicted," she said breezily. Then, "Are we going back to the hotel for your luggage or not?"

"Sure, yeah," I said. I watched her for a moment as she strode down the sidewalk, then hurried to catch up.

The walk back was silent – maybe we were too cold to raise our faces to the wind and speak. My mind was trying to process everything that had happened over the past forty-eight hours and fit it into some sort of understandable story. Something was still _off_. Maybe if someone had been murdered it would make more sense to me.

Bones hailed a cab while I retrieved my luggage from behind the hotel counter. Anything I might have said during the cabride was then inhibited by the presence of the cab driver, who kept on glancing at us in the rearview mirror. He was probably transfixed by Bones's hideous hat, but it still made me uncomfortable. Then when we reached the train station there was the panic of calling Cam to see if we needed to pick up tickets, finding the right platform, and finding a suitable seating arrangement. I wanted to sit alone with Bones, but the seats were arranged in groups of four that each surrounded a table. I ended up across from Bones and Clark, next to Cam.

"Hey, Clark, any chance of switching seats?" I asked. "Moving backwards always makes me motion sick."

"Sure," he said, and we switched sides of the table. Bones didn't seem to notice. She had pulled out her laptop, which was plugged into one of the train outlets. I thought she was aware of me, though, because when I glanced at her screen she tilted it ever-so-slightly towards the corner.

Oh, well, I had four hours to crack her.

Clark fell asleep an hour later, head nodding against the window pane as the train bustled across track. Cam kept on glancing at me, which I effectively ignored. Then I heard her close the journal she was reading.

"I'm going to get something from the food car," she said.

"Ah, a more elegant way to travel," I said.

She gave one of her half-smiles. "Yes, nachos are always elegant. You want anything?"

I shook my head and she sashayed away, lightly touching each passing seat to keep her balance.

I spent the next sixty seconds drumming my fingers on the table, and then decided the coast was clear.

"So, Sully showed you the sights."

For a moment I wondered if Bones was actually going to pretend she didn't hear me. Then the sound of her typing stopped and she closed her laptop.

"Not really," she said. "I got tired and he took me back to the hotel pretty early."

I nodded, giving her a moment. Then, "Think you'll see him again?"

Silence. She gave a sad little smile and then folded her arms on the table. "Maybe," she answered.

"You know Sully's a great guy," I said, elbowing her gently.

She laughed. "So everyone tells me." Her face fell a little bit.

"Last night didn't go well?" I tried. I was pushing it, now. Bones didn't like to talk about relationships, unless it was about sex. I was opening myself up here for something I might not want to hear.

She pulled back from the table and tucked her arms into herself. "Your ex Rebecca once told me that there's a moment for two people. A single moment where they can catch fire, in her words, or the passion fades." She paused, looking at the gray landscape out the window. "Sully and I missed our moment."

It was like a whole new Bones. Talking about relationships, regrets, passion, love. She was sad, I could tell, but not the mess she often was when she finally let the emotions hit her. I couldn't help it – I swung my arm around her shoulder and pulled her a few inches closer.

"That's alright, Bones, there will be other moments," I murmured.

I was surprised when she tucked her head into the crook of my shoulder. She rubbed her cheek against my wool jacket and I smiled a little.

"You promise?" she asked.

"Absolutely," I said, and dared to dip my head and breathe in the sweet scent of her. "Everything happens eventually."

* * *

**A/N: You can probably tell Sully's about to go on the back burner for a little bit, although he'll be back - did you catch the new source of angst? Probably, I basically knocked you over the head with it. At any rate, after all the dodging these two have been doing for seven or so years, I have to break them down COMPLETELY before they'll finally get together. Buckle your seat belts, the angst-train is just leaving the station...**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: An unusually long update today. BTW, the Postal Inspectors are a real law enforcement unit. They investigate child pornography because, originally, a lot of child pornography traffic went through the mail. Per usual, I'm trying to keep things as realistic as possible... but of course within the fantasy realm of fanfiction. Also, if anyone is at all worried, I promise there is absolutely zero description of the pornographic material. I'm going with the Hitchcockian method - what you don't see is often far scarier than what you do see. (Also, that keeps it a T rating.)**

* * *

Brennan's POV

I hung up the phone and rested my head on my arms. I imagined I had approximately fifteen minutes before Cam walked into my office asking about why I had just referred the U.S. Postal Inspectors to her and Booth. Fifteen minutes to collect myself.

Booth hadn't pressed for further details about my little stunt at the convention yesterday morning, so I hadn't volunteered all the details.

After Sully dropped me at the hotel the previous night I took a shower and then propped myself in front of the TV, of all things. Maybe I should have spent the time incorporating Sully into my novel, but I was too exhausted after what Booth might call an "emotional rollercoaster." I'm sure a chart plotting my serotonin levels over the last few hours would indeed resemble the peaks and troughs of rollercoaster. Instead I watched a drama on the Spanish channel (to keep my language skills fresh, of course). A woman in the midst of ironing was arguing with her daughter through the steam. Then I was asleep.

_I'm ironing clothes. The steam is hot in my face, but I have my hair in a ponytail. I put each shirt on a hanger, straighten the shoulders, then walk it to the closet. _

_I hear her on the stairs. She watches me iron for a moment. I want her to go away. _

_ "No. No!" she suddenly says, and rips the iron from my grip. "Wrong! How many times do I have to show you? Sit and watch."_

_ She points at the wall and I know what she wants. I've been taught the invisible chair – I place my back against the wall, and then slide down so my knees are bent at a ninety degree angle. My thighs are getting stronger, but I'm still quivering after a minute. The burn runs down my legs and back up, venomous. But I can't fall. If I fall I just have to sit here longer._

_ "Are you watching?" she demands._

_ "Yes," I say, but I'm not. I'm looking past her, gritting my teeth, focusing on counting the graying wood panels on the opposite wall._

The wall.

I woke up to cramped legs and an infomercial on the Spanish channel. And I knew exactly why that one sanitized image of child pornography had caught my eye at the convention the day before. I was seeing the inside of one of my former foster homes.

I hadn't gone back to sleep after that. I had packed up my luggage and walked to the convention center as soon as I thought the Postal Inspector's booth would be open. It was such an unlikely coincidence that the Postal Inspectors didn't believe me at first. But I didn't make mistakes.

Then I had forced the incident from my mind. Although I was sure about the origin of the interior depicted in the image, I reasoned with myself that someone else was probably living there when the photo was taken. While my foster parents were cruelly authoritarian, it was statistically unlikely that a married couple would produce child pornography. For these reasons it would have been pointless to worry Booth with the details of how and why I recognized that photo. It wasn't our concern. When Booth asked about Sully it provided the perfect diversion; and a shoulder to lean on.

I banished the memory from my mind before it led to anything else. Any human would be comforted by physical affection. Booth would have done that for anyone.

"Hey, Bones, do you want to get some early dinner?" Booth had asked as we disembarked from the train.

It was what I had been longing for – more time alone together. For a moment I lingered on the platform, letting the travelers with luggage and children and food bustle around us.

But he was only asking because Hannah had stayed behind in Boston, and possibly because he thought I was more upset over Sully than I really was. He was under the impression Sully was the love of my life, after all. Little did he know.

"No, thank you, I didn't sleep well last night. I'm just going to return to my apartment," I said. I didn't wait for his predictable protestations. I was still trying to contain the low level anxiety over the child pornography photo and knew Booth would perceive my distress if I gave him enough time.

Things changed when I arrived at work this morning. Almost immediately I received a call from the Postal Inspectors. They had found the house where the picture was taken. They had even identified the victim depicted in the photo. How had they identified her? The local police had on record a foster child that had gone missing from that very house - and the photos matched. Given the potential severity of the situation the investigators brought a cadaver dog to the house. They found a child's skeletonized remains in a grave in the basement. Given that I had provided their best lead, and Booth's and my reputation, they had requested our involvement.

I heard footfalls on the walkway leading to my office. My fifteen minutes were up. I lifted my head and shook out my hair.

Cam sidled into my office, arms crossed.

"I just got a very interesting phone call," she said.

"Was it Booth or the Postal Inspectors?" I asked.

"Why didn't you mention this yesterday?" she countered.

I shrugged. "I didn't expect any further involvement. Apparently they followed up on my lead quite quickly."

"Apparently," she said.

For a moment we faced off in silence. I knew my capacity for silence far exceeded Dr. Saroyan's so I kept my face calm and impassive.  
"Alright," she said finally, and walked out of my office.

Dealing with Booth wouldn't be so easy. I decided, according to Dr. Wyatt's logic, I would have the greatest advantage if I addressed Booth from the heart of my realm, the forensic platform. I needed to prepare Dr. Edison, as well.

Hodgins was in his nook next to the platform, analyzing particulates from a set of ancient remains the Jeffersonian had received a few months ago. Angela was leaning against his desk, no doubt completely undermining his productivity. Clark jogged up and swiped his card before joining me on the platform.

"Dr. Brennan, you wanted to see me?" he prompted.

"Yes," I said. "Agent Booth will be arriving shortly with information about a probable murder in Chicago. I'd like you to join him in the field."

I saw Angela turn out of the corner of my eye.

"You aren't traveling with Agent Booth?" Dr. Edison asked, confused.

"No," I said, "I think you need some experience in the field."

He furrowed his brow. "The remains aren't on railroad track, are they?"

"Uh, no," I answered, momentarily distracted. "Why is that a concern?"

Just then Booth jogged up the stairs and swiped his card. "Let's go, Bones, we got a case off that photo you recognized." He clapped his hands together.

"Actually," I said, "Dr. Edison will be joining you in the field. I've decided, taking into account his familiarity with Chicago as well as his significant experience, that Dr. Edison is aptly suited to the task."

Angela and Hodgins joined us on the forensic platform.

"What?" Booth said, glancing between Dr. Edison and myself. "What happened to spending your time in the field so you could better aim me? Like a hose?"

I ignored his cajoling smile and forged ahead. "In this case," I said, "considering Dr. Edison's experience in Chicago as an additional variable, sending him into the field maximizes his utility. And," I added, glancing at Angela, "I don't feel like traveling after a four hour train ride yesterday."

"So this is all just a rational decision," Angela said, swirling her hand demonstrably.

"Absolutely," I said. Then I forced a short laugh. "What else could it be?"

"Uh, huh," Angela said, clearly skeptical. But I didn't need to convince Angela – I needed to convince Booth.

"Bones, can I talk to you for a minute?" he said, gesturing off the forensic platform.

I sighed but led the way down the short stairwell. I was expecting an interrogation. Instead he just fixed me with his eyes and asked, "Bones, is there anything you're not telling me?"

I considered. The truth would probably come out eventually, and maybe if I revealed to Booth some of my inner monologue he would reciprocate by obeying my wish and leaving with Clark. Then again, Booth might try to offer some sort of emotional or physical comfort. Given my elevated stress level I didn't think I'd be able to maintain my composure if he tried to touch me.

"No," I said.

He looked hurt. For a moment I faltered, but then I remembered. I wasn't in an intimate, monogamous relationship with Booth. The metaphorical bearing of hearts was between him and Hannah. He had made that very clear in the car a week ago.

He hung his head a moment and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Then he raised his head. "You know you can always talk to me, right?"

"Absolutely. You're my partner," I said brusquely.

He took a step towards the platform, but then turned back. "I – I didn't do anything, did I?" he whispered.

The pain came back, sharp and aching below my sternum.

"No," I said, taking a deep breath through my nose.

He didn't look convinced, but he jogged up the platform nonetheless. "Alright, Clark," I heard him say. "Go home and get your overnight bag."

"Call me with updates," I said brightly, maintaining the ruse. Then I turned towards bone storage. I didn't need to linger for their departure.

I retrieved a set of remains to analyze. There was never a dearth of the deceased waiting to be identified. I could always count on their company.

Jane Doe was in her late teens to early twenties, was approximately 1.58 meters tall, and weighed approximately 50 kilograms at her time of death. Her cavities suggested her drinking water wasn't fluoridated, and Harris lines were visible on x-ray, suggesting a period of severe malnutrition as a child.

"Chicago, huh?" Angela said.

I glanced up from the remains. "Yes," I answered, then bowed my head to the table again.

"That's where you lived when you were in the foster system," she said.

I lifted the femur from the table. There was no point denying it. "That's correct," I said.

"Booth said that you recognized some architecture in one of the photos."

"I think this woman might be from a foreign country," I said. "Isotopic analysis of the bone could provide a long-term statistical average of diet composition, suggesting her country of origin."

"Was it one of your foster homes?" Angela pressed.

"What I don't understand is the evidence of osteonecrosis," I plowed on. "It's very unusual in such a young woman, even given vitamin D deficiency."

Then I realized what she had said. I faltered, replacing the femur.

"It was, wasn't it?" Angela said.

"Yes," I said. I turned away to mark an observation on my chart, but I couldn't remember what. "Although it's improbable that the foster family I stayed with was also involved in the manufacture of child pornography. I'm assuming the home changed ownership."

Angela strode around the table and hugged me. I stiffened, but then I felt a tug where that pain lived below my heart. I turned and threw my arms around her neck.

"Don't tell Booth," I whispered.

"Okay," she said. "Okay."

I thought she was going to bombard me with questions, but she just held me, like my mom used to do. I pressed my nose into her shoulder.

When she finally pulled back she said, "Come on, you need to eat."

"What? I just got here."

"No you didn't," she laughed. "You've been down here for hours. It's past one."

I ordered salad at the diner, but relied on Angela to share her french-fries. She kept the conversation light until she posed the question I knew she had been dying to ask.

"So. Sully," she began.

"That's not a question," I observed.

"Booth says you two didn't stay out very late." She popped a french-fry into her mouth.

"That's not a question, either," I laughed.

"So why don't you try completing my sentence?" she offered.

I sighed. "Sully and I didn't have sex," I said. "I presume that's what you wanted to know."

She folded her arms on the table. "And how do you feel about that?"

I mimicked her posture and leaned in to fold my arms on the table. "Although I'm sure I would have enjoyed the experience, I don't regret leaving him in Boston."

"So you don't think you'll see him again."

I shrugged. "Maybe. As friends. Booth's ex Rebecca once told me that two people have a moment. My moment with Sully passed." Angela leaned back with a smirk. "What?" I demanded. "You're the one that told me all beauty is transient and of the moment. After you broke up with Roxie."

"I remember that conversation," Angela said. "It was kind of a pivotal moment for me."

"Pivotal," I repeated.

"Yeah. You know, back then, I thought Hodgins and I had missed our moment, too."

"Although clearly you didn't," I pointed out, attempting to follow her train of thought.

"You know what he said to me that day? Before I talked to you?"

"No," I said. "Obviously."

Angela smiled. "All great moments pass."

I furrowed my brow. "Wasn't that _your _point? This conversation is circular, Angela."

"But what he _showed _me," she continued, "is that there's more than just moments."

I settled back into my seat. "You're implying there might be more to me and Sully than just a moment."

She frowned. "Hell no. He was way too nice for you. My point is," she dipped a fry in ketchup and pointed it at me, "if you think you've missed your moment with anyone _else_… maybe there's more to it than just a moment."

"I'm having trouble following you," I said honestly.

She nodded. "Yeah, I know. But promise me you'll think about it?"

I promised.

**

* * *

A/N: Once again, thank you to all who have posted such encouraging reviews.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: At this point I can tell you there will be approximately 35 chapters to this sucker. I intend to double-update the week leading up to the winter premier of Bones since I'm much farther along in the writing than I thought I would be. I'm already working on that happy ending!**

**Also, for those of you that were worried, you may not have caught what Brennan said last chapter: "While my foster parents were cruelly authoritarian, it was statistically unlikely that a married couple would produce child pornography." In other words, Brennan was NEVER the victim of sexual abuse. I maintain my promise: nothing explicit. However, Agent Booth doesn't know that, hence angst. :-)**

* * *

Booth's POV

I kicked off my shoes, unbuttoned my shirt, and slipped off my belt. I looked around for a hook but of course there wasn't any. I was in the suburb franchise of Motel Zero while Clark got the spiffy digs downtown. Some days what I wouldn't give to be a private contractor instead of a government stooge. The TV probably only had basic cable and on-demand porn.

I flopped on the mattress and the headboard banged against the wall.

I flipped open my phone. Hannah or Bones?

She picked up on the fourth ring.

_"Brennan."_

"Why do you always answer the phone like you don't know it's me?" I asked. "You know it says who it is on the little screen."

_"I never bother to look," _she answered. _"How did you find working with Dr. Edison?"_

I shrugged even though she couldn't see me. "Oh, you know, he's alright. Picked a good pizza place." I paused. "But, you know, he's not literal enough."

_"Was he unprofessional at the scene?"_

I rolled my eyes. "No, Bones, I was making a joke."

_"Oh. You're referencing my tendency to take things too literally." _Her turn to pause. _"Are you making fun of me?"_

"No, Bones, I'm saying I miss your… you." _Oh, smooth, Seeley. _"Your Bonesey-ness." Since that made it so much better. I banged my head back against the wooden headboard. _You aren't sixteen and this isn't Vanessa Taylor. Get a grip. You're just calling your partner, like any other night._

_ "Uh, thank you, Booth. But Dr. Edison must be at least equally pleasing to work with. You once said you'd like me much better as a man because then you wouldn't have to be so polite and accommodating."_

"You kidding? I have to be nothing _but _polite around Clark. You make a dirty joke and he blushes."

_"You'd still probably be more comfortable talking about sex with him, a fellow male, than you are with me."_

Okay, this was not a road my mind was prepared to go down.

"Jeez, Bones, if I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to set us up."

_"No,"_ she said, as if this was a perfectly reasonable possibility. Then it occurred to me. Maybe this was a possibility. Maybe she was subtly trying to replace herself with Clark.

The pieces fell into place fast, clarifying a corner of the recent Bones puzzle. Inviting Clark to the expo. Her unusual praise of Clark's work. Pulling Clark into our taxi. She was setting us up.

"That's exactly what you're trying to do, isn't it?" I said.

_"No, both you and Clark are confident in your heterosexuality," _she said.

"That's not what I mean, Bones. You're trying to set us up as partners, aren't you." The collar of my shirt chafed against my neck. I pinched the phone against my shoulder and tugged off my shirtsleeves so I was just in my beater and medallion.

_"That's ridiculous, Booth!" _Way too fast of an answer. My heart was accelerating.

"Bones, you've got to talk to me," I said, trying to keep my voice soft. "If I did something wrong, or you want to go with Sully or something –"

_"I don't care about Sully," _she snapped. Then, amazingly, she corrected herself before I could object. _"That's not true. I do care about Sully, but not enough to follow him to Boston." _My heart rate slowed a little bit. _"Seriously, Booth, I just… Sully has nothing to do with it. Can you tell me about the case?"_

"Sure, Bones," I sighed. "Clark says he's confident in identifying the remains as Megan Holiday, the girl in the pictures."

_"Any suspects?"_

"When she disappeared the cops liked her deadbeat druggie dad for it. But considering where we found the bones, the foster parents are looking pretty good."

_"What are their names?"_

I answered without a second thought. "Well the dad's Holiday. The foster parents are Maureen and Eddie Falco."

There was a pause at the other end of the line. I felt the change in my gut before she spoke.

_"Booth, I need to recuse myself from this case."_

"Why?"

_"Because… because I lived with the Falcos for a short time while I was in the foster system."_

_ Holy shit. _My head reeled. I – I couldn't –

"You lied to me about the photo," I said. Probably shouldn't have been the first thing out of my mouth.

_"No I did not," _she said. _"I told you I recognized the architecture. I just didn't say from where."_

"Yeah, but when I asked you if something was wrong this morning –"

_"I'm fine, Booth! Remember what happened when Hodgins didn't recuse himself? It almost destroyed Caroline's case!"_

"Temperance Brennan," I hissed, "you _cannot _just tell you me you're fine after identifying an image of _child pornography_ that was shot in one of your foster homes. Bones – God."

My heartrate had skyrocketed.

_"Megan Holiday lived with the Falcos years after I graduated from college, Booth. Rationally, then –"_

"Fuck rational! Bones, you need to tell me about that house, _now._"

_"I'm recusing myself, Booth. I can't offer you any insights on the case."_

Insights were what I was looking for, alright, but not into the case.

"God, can you hear yourself? You're freaking me out, Bones! You sound like a robot, like Zack!"

As soon as I said it I wanted to take it back. It was the cruelest thing I had ever said to Bones. Seven years ago when I said "I'm not your dad" at least I had the excuse of ignorance. If she was here with me I had no doubt she would have hit me again.

"_Clearly in the moment you're incapable about talking about this reasonably. I'm hanging up."_

And she did – she hung up on me.

_ I'm sorry. _

Two – three words. And I couldn't say them.

I called her back immediately, but of course she didn't pick up. And I couldn't chase after her, I was halfway across the country. I tried calling again with no success.

It figures Bones would get defensively rational. That's who she was – brick walls of science around a heart of glass. I knew better than to push her.

If I was a hostage negotiator everyone would be dead by now.

And why had I suddenly pushed her? Because I had panicked. Because I knew something had been off these past few days, but it had never occurred to me that anything at all like child pornography would be involved.

I was going to puke.

I swung my feet to the floor and put my head between my knees.

_Breathe._

_ You don't know if they did it. _

_ You don't know anything yet._

_ The answer is in this case, Booth. Focus on the case._

The nausea abated and I raised my head. The answer was in the case. The case provided the next objective. One mission at a time, soldier.

I picked up the phone, ready to call Bones again, but then I remembered Hannah.

_Just got in from the case. Too tired to talk,_ I texted her.

Then I threw my phone at the foot of the bed.

_Please, God, let it be the biological father._


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: ZACK ATTACK!**

* * *

Brennan's POV

I knew the nightmare was going to come Friday night, so I did something stupid. Rationally speaking the costs of a sleepless night far outweighed the fleeting discomfort of a nightmare. I stayed up all night anyway.

For the first several hours my phone rang every thirty minutes. Booth was calling, probably to apologize. I couldn't bear to listen to his voice. He had hurt me, essentially calling me heartless; but worse, he had implicated Zack in the process. I simply couldn't forgive Booth that quickly.

But as the hours wore on and the words in the anthropology journals began to blur, I wanted the phone to ring. Each half hour the phone chimed, telling me that somewhere across the country Booth was awake, too. Keeping vigil.

His last call was at 12:30 a.m. He had finally given into sleep. I was left alone.

I made a cup of tea and opened my laptop.

Eventually I noticed the sky lightening to a light gray. At six I stopped working on my novel and took a shower. I left at seven, giving myself an hour. Saturday visiting hours started at eight.

My phone rang as I exited the car – Booth, no doubt. I turned off my phone; the charm of last night's long-distance stakeout had dissipated.

"Dr. Brennan," Zack nodded as I entered the room.

When I saw him I felt an irrational surge of protectiveness, probably in reaction to Booth's callous comments. I strode across the room, grinning, and hugged Zack immediately.

"You're hurting me," Zack said after a moment.

"Sorry," I said, withdrawing. "I'm just – excited to see you."

"Why?" he asked, completely disregarding his own potential to be the subject of interest and affection.

There _was_ a particular reason I was excited, however.

"I'm trying to identify a Jane Doe from bone storage," I said. "I brought my notes and x-rays."

I sat down opposite Zack and pulled a manila file from my messenger bag. Zack took the paperwork and started perusing.

"There are several anomalies," I said, "most notably the osteonecrosis of the ischium. Most unusual in a woman of her age." Zack pulled out the x-rays. "Isotopic analysis of the bone matches the geology of portions of southern Africa," I said, "and I think she was an immigrant."

"HIV," Zack announced, still flipping through pages. "In my professional opinion she had HIV."

"Of course," I murmured, pulling the file back towards myself. "The administration of nucleoside reverse transcriptase inhibitors for HIV has been associated with decreases in bone mineral density." I raised my glance. "Very good, Dr. Addy."

"Although your esteem has no exchange value in the loony bin, I value it nonetheless," he said.

"My esteem is well-deserved," I said, still reading over what I had brought Zack. It took even me several moments to follow his logical process. "I expected you to come to a swift conclusion. If Booth hadn't discouraged us from consulting you on cases I'd probably have visited you more often." I realized how what I had just said could be interpreted and looked up with a grimace. "That came out wrong," I admitted.

Zack furrowed his brows. "I understand that the benefits of maintaining a collegial relationship with Agent Booth outweigh the benefit of solving cases quicker through my assistance."

Of course he wouldn't be offended like a normal person. "Exactly," I said. "Perfectly rational."

"Thank you. Although I'm a little confused by your desire to involve me in cases when you were so adamantly against employing your father at the Jeffersonian lest he interfere with forensic inquiry."

I stopped reading what was in front of me. "I…" I couldn't think of any rational explanation. Instead I asked, "How do you know about my father's work at the Jeffersonian?"

"Hodgins told me," Zack answered. "He came to visit me quite often while Angela was having sex with Roxie."

"Oh. I…"

"By some metrics, my crimes are more severe than those of your father. Similarly your father was acquitted, while I've been committed." Then he smiled. "I rhymed. There's a patient here that compulsively recites words that rhyme. Sometimes I help him when he exhausts his vocabulary."

I turned my eyes to the file, but I wasn't reading.

Zack had pointed out a most obvious inconsistency in my logic. How could I have been so hypocritical without any self-awareness of the fact? Inviting Zack to work on cases and forbidding my father from involvement: these two behaviors were based on fundamentally conflicting principles. The two should not coexist.

Then there was Booth. How could Booth criticize us for welcoming Zack on a case, then turn around and persuade me to let my father, a thief and a murderer, to work in close proximity to the forensics lab? How was that at all fair?

I was furious. With myself _and _Booth.

I snapped the folder shut and shoved it back into my bag. "I need to go, Zack," I said.

"Wait – what about cause of death?" he said.

"She was shot four times in the chest," I answered. "And since no bullets were found at her road-side grave, someone most likely dug them out of her chest before burying her. And now I need to go and…" I hesitated, trying to find the right description for what I was about to do. "Remedy an inconsistency in my behavior," I finished.

Then I strode out of the room.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Longer update today, doubles starting tomorrow. After much thought I have finally decided to change the rating of this story to M, for two reasons. First, although Brennan was not sexually abused, these themes are nonetheless potent and disturbing. Second, the rating of this story was always eventually going to turn to M because let's face it - how could Brennan and Booth have anything but totally M-rated sex? Enjoy, Evie.**

* * *

Booth's POV

Bones's phone only rang twice before she sent me to voicemail. I had left her one voicemail the previous night, after my last call. I decided it was too soon to fill her voicemail-box and disconnected.

I sighed and sent my phone spinning across the table.

Clark glanced up from his eggs benedict. "Something wrong?" he asked.

I frowned and considered. I quickly came to the conclusion that Clark did _not _want to know about my drama with Bones. "Yeah," I answered. "The bacon at this diner sucks."

I'd stopped calling Bones after 12:30 a.m., but I hadn't been able to sleep.

_What's going on, Bones? Did they touch you, Bones? Where are you?_

After two failed hours of sleep I turned on the wobbly bedside lamp and pulled out the case file. By breakfast I could probably recite the statements of everyone involved.

My phone buzzed against the table and I snatched it up.

No Bones. It was the Postal Inspector we had met yesterday.

I sighed and answered, "Booth."

_"Agent Booth we may have identified the adult in the image."_

I straightened up. "No face in the photo, no identifying markers like tattoos…"

_"In one of the other photos with Megan the guy forgot to take off a ring. Nothing to go on, really, not a class ring – just some piece of crap with a dragon on it. I showed it to the local PD and it popped. They've got a registered sex offender comes in every year for a fresh mug shot. They recognized the ring right away."_

"Do you have an address?" I asked, flipping open my notepad.

_"Yeah. I figured you'd want in on this."_

"Trust me, assuming the guy in the photos has _something _to do with Megan's murder, you'll want my people to analyze the scene."

_"You're already assuming this guy's house is a scene?"_

"If you really found the guy from the photo, I've got no doubt he has a stash of kiddie porn."

I hung up a moment later.

I felt a glimmer of hope – it looked like this case was about to wrap up, no connection to Bones whatsoever.

_But the skeleton was in the basement, _I remembered. _Damn._

"Break on the case?" Clark asked.

"Yeah," I said, tossing some cash onto the table. "Found the guy in the photos."

I met the Postal Inspector, Harkins, one block away from the apartment complex on the outskirts of Chicago. The city was living up to its windy nickname, and my face stung as we conversed on the sidewalk; Harkins looked like a tomato with a buzz-cut.

Harkins had brought along a beat cop that had experience with the sex offender. I had dropped Clark at the morgue, where he was finishing recording his 'preliminary results.' What a squint – he didn't even want to ride-along for the bust.

"Is this guy a flight risk?" I asked.

The cop smirked and shook his head. "First time we arrested him he pissed his pants he was so scared."

Harkins snorted. I wasn't impressed. "What's his history?" I asked

Harkins spoke over the cop. "One conviction for exposing himself to some girls at a bus stop. Busted again for the same thing a year later."

"Looks like he's expanded his repertoire," I muttered.

A woman on the second floor snapped her curtains shut. The street was quiet – the residents knew we were cops.

"Let's do this before I freeze my ass off," the cop complained. We left the cruiser out of sight.

The building had an exterior stairwell enclosed in mesh grating. It rattled in the wind.

"Is this to code?" I asked.

The cop shook his head. "You try finding housing for a paroled sex offender."

We banged up the metal steps and entered at the third floor. The interior looked like a cheap motel and smelled like cat urine. Music thumped through the walls; we passed one open apartment and I glimpsed the stained carpet and dented mini-fridge within. The cop stopped at number 36 and slammed his fist against the door.

"Harold Wilson, this is Officer Morgan with the Chicago Police. Open up."

The music from down the hall quieted a little. The sound of voices behind closed doors ceased. I had my hand on my gun.

The guy actually opened the door.

Officer Morgan had him cuffed and against the wall in a moment.

"Mr. Wilson, we have a search warrant for the premises," I announced, pushing past.

I snapped on a pair of gloves. Mr. Wilson was a parolee without a child pornography conviction, so anything would be well hidden. The child pornographer profile said he'd have an extensive, well-organized collection, so I wasn't looking in small places like the toilet tank. Mr. Wilson also didn't seem to own a computer, though he did own a huge, vinyl-plated TV from the 1980s.

Wilson was watching me even as Officer Morgan had him up against a wall, and when he saw me looking at the TV he said, "It doesn't work. Hasn't for weeks."

That was all I needed. Why did Mr. Wilson feel compelled to warn me his TV didn't work?

I strode over to the TV, ran my hands along the back, looking for a panel.

"What's he doing?" I heard Wilson ask.

"Hey, Harkins, c'mere," I said. "Help me put the TV on its face."

Harkins ambled over and hefted his side of the TV with a grunt. I saw the panel on the bottom before the TV hit the carpet.

"Yowza," I whispered. I popped the panel off and pulled out the three binders inside.

Any sense of victory faded when I opened to the first photos. I took a deep breath and closed the binder again. Only then did I notice the title scrawled in permanent marker on the spine – _Brunettes. _The other two were labeled _Blondes _and _Redheads._

I called Angela a few hours later from my rental car. I sat on the street jiggling my legs while the car blew cold air through the vents.

"They were supposed to send you all the crime scene photos. Have they arrived?" I asked.

_"Yeah, I'm looking through them now," _she said._ "But Booth – did this guy own a computer?"_

"No, he's a broke creeper," I snorted. "He probably uses library computers. Why?"

_"Well, what about CDs or a flash drive? Anything like that?"_ she pressed.

"They should've sent you the list – what is this about?"

A sigh crackled over the line. _"Booth, the photos were taken with a digital camera. And the Postal Inspectors pulled them off the internet."_

My heart sank. "You think he had an accomplice," I muttered.

_"Yes, Booth," _she said. _"That's exactly what I think."_

"I gotta go."

I snapped the phone shut and slammed my hand against the wheel. _Damn it! _I had wanted it to be the sex offender so badly I hadn't seen what was right in front of me.

I sped towards the police station, where Wilson was hopefully still in interrogation.

I called Harkins on my way up the station steps. "Harkins, tell me Wilson's still in the box."

_"Sure, we're sweatin' him. What's up?"_

"I have a few questions."

Harkins met me in the lobby as I was hanging up. "What's this about?" he asked.

"Wilson's accomplice."

Harkins shot me a dark look and punched the button for the elevator. As we stood there I jangled the change in my pocket, tempted to go for the stairs.

The doors opened.

"These guys… they're real friendly online, but they don't often work together," Harkins said. The elevator chimed as we passed the second floor. "Most any commercial setups were shut down by the nineties. It's a barter economy now; you show me yours, I'll show you mine…"

"Yeah, but Wilson didn't have a digital camera," I said. "There was someone taking the shots."

As we passed through the bustling bullpen I suddenly wished for Sweets. I was barely disciplining my mind from straying into horrible speculation, I was running on adrenaline and the eggs from breakfast, and I wasn't sure I had it in me to get into a pedophile's head.

Harkins stopped in front of a door. "You okay for this?" he asked, sizing me up.

"Yeah," I snapped. As I said it I felt more confident. "I'm good." And then I went into the room.

Wilson looked like a lot of poor, white parolees that were looking back on their middle age. Ill-fitting shirt. Paunchy. He was scratching his inner arm – probably eczema exacerbated by the dry winter. And on his right hand was an oversized stainless steel ring engraved with a dragon.

"I just look at them, I never touch them," he said as I sat down. "That's what I told the other cops."

I leaned back and set my right foot on my left knee. "That's some ring," I said.

"It's Chinese. It symbolizes power and control." He spun it around his knuckle. "And I told you guys, hundreds of people probably have rings like mine."

I shrugged. "Men don't usually wear jewelry."

"I told you, in China it symbolizes power and control. You're so… you're all ignorant," he huffed.

Clearly the officers had worked him, but he had his story and he was sticking to it. He knew his face never appeared in those photos.

"You know, Wilson, I'm thinking most guys that are powerful and in control don't wear rings to prove it," I said.

His eyes darted past me to the mirrored wall.

"You know, exposing yourself to school kids is a very passive think to do." I paused. "I don't think you had it in you to touch them."

He folded his arms, still scratching his elbow and narrowed his eyes.

"You probably couldn't even talk a kid into getting in your car. Hell, you thought about it. You looked at them all the time. But you wouldn't have crossed that line."

"Yeah, like I told you," he repeated. "That's why I'm talking to you guys."

"You have standards," I said. The words stuck in my throat a little. But this is what I did – I got in their heads and I got them to talk. "You never would've touched anybody. You know, talking to you, looking at your sheet, I think you're a victim, too, Wilson."

His eyes narrowed and he shifted in his seat.

"Whoever took this picture took advantage of you," I said, sliding the image out of a file on the table. "You never would've done those things to Megan if he didn't tell you to. It's not in your psychological profile. But he made you cross that line. He made you hurt her." I paused. "He's the one we're after."

Wilson's eyes darted to my face.

And now it was time to lie through my teeth.

"The forensic anthropologist found your DNA on Megan's pelvis," I said. "Fossilized." God I hoped he believed in the mystical power of science. "I think you were coerced. But to prove it, I'm going to need your testimony."

He was scratching his elbow more fiercely, then behind his ears. He was close – _so _close to cracking.

"Megan needs your help," I murmured, tapping her face in the picture. "Don't let her down again."

Wilson stared at her face. I pulled back my fingers. He let out a huge sigh.

"Eddie Falco," he said.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Bring on the double-updates...**

* * *

Brennan's POV

"Temperance!" my father said, getting up to give me a hug.

I wrapped my arms around him as was expected. "Thanks for coming, Dad."

"Hey, anything for my kid. So what's up?"

I slid into the Booth and set my bag down next to me. The waitress came by with coffee; Dad offered his mug but I declined.

"So you said you needed my help with something?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "I need you to help me break Zack out of McKinley Psychiatric Hospital." He flinched and quickly set his coffee down. "Is the coffee too hot?" I asked.

"No," he laughed, "but are you crazy?"

"What? Why do you ask that?" I demanded.

My father licked his lips. "Zack is the kid with the toaster head, right? The one that ate people?"

"Yes," I said. "Although the description of his head –"

"Tempe, don't you think he _belongs _in a psychiatric hospital?" he asked, leaning in.

"I've given that a significant amount of thought," I answered. "Zack committed murder because of faulty logic. As soon as he saw the flaw in his reasoning, he regretted his actions and cooperated fully with law enforcement. Therefore I don't see how he poses a risk to society. It's unlikely he would ever make such a significant mistake in his reasoning again."

"Really," Dad said, clearly skeptical.

"Really," I said, folding my arms.

"Well, maybe," Dad persisted, "maybe shouldn't he still be, I don't know, punished or something?"

I cocked my head and sighed. "Dad, don't you think that's a little hypocritical?"

He thinned his eyes. It took a moment for him to catch up to me. "So you're comparing me to him, now?" he finally asked.

"Absolutely," I answered. "You both committed murder. You didn't even cooperate with law enforcement, but I helped you avoid a conviction. And, _and,_" I continued, cutting him off before he could speak, "I let you work in close proximity to the forensics lab. How is that fair?"

"Come on, Tempe," he said. "I killed a man to protect my family. Zack _ate_ people."

"And he thought doing so would protect the whole population of the United States," I said.

"You really don't see the difference, do you?" he laughed.

"No," I snapped. "You disemboweled a man and set him on fire."

"He was dead!" Dad objected.

"Zack didn't boil people alive," I countered. "Like you, he stabbed them first."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," he muttered. He took another long drink of his coffee. "Does Agent Booth know about this?"

"Of course not," I said. "Booth's moral development only allows him to operate within the behavior proscribed by written law. Like you, I have a more highly developed sense of morality that allows me to independently judge what is right and wrong."

Dad put down his coffee. "Okay, what happens after we break him out? The kid doesn't have any social skills, Tempe. He couldn't hide in plain sight. It would be like… trying to blend a cell phone into a fruit smoothie."

"I thought about that on the drive over," I said. "I think the best option would be to move Zack to a country that doesn't have an extradition treaty with the United States, such as Cape Verde."

"Honey," my dad said, reaching for my hand, "what happens if you get caught? Is this really worth your career?"

I gave a half smile. "That's why I called you."

He held my hand and gave me a sad look. "Tempe, I really don't think this is a good idea."

I pursed my lips and withdrew my hand. "I was asking for your help, Dad, not your permission. If you don't help me I'll just do it on my own."

"Yeah, well what if I tell Agent Booth?" he snapped.

"Then I'd never speak to you again," I said.

My Dad sighed and lowered his head.

"I'll… I'll make some inquiries," he said at last.

I surged across the table and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Dad," I whispered.

I stayed for lunch because it was the polite thing to do, but I could barely focus on the conversation. I found trying _not _to think about some things was just as difficult as disciplining my body to perform Karate. My mind wanted to stray to Booth's case in Chicago, but I felt ill every time I thought of the Falcos. Then I thought of Booth, and his comment that I was essentially a heartless automaton. Did he know me so little? I thought he understood how difficult it was for me to approach emotional topics. It was an inconceivable betrayal that he could think so little of me. Of course, maybe I was every bit as horrible processing emotions as he thought I was. I had cut myself, after all, in possibly the most unproductive, irrational, and juvenile moment of my life. How Booth would pity and scorn me if he knew.

And that was why he was better off with Hannah.

Some of my thoughts must have shown on my face because my father said, "Hey, you okay, Tempe?"

"Yes," I said. "Of course."

And then I turned our conversation to the distraction of the Jane Doe from bone storage.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Some of you have probably noticed the absence of Dr. Sweets thus far. I know, I've missed him, too. But don't worry, he's about to make his reappearance...**

* * *

Booth's POV

I sat with Wilson while he told me all about Eddie. How much money Eddie offered him. Where Eddie directed the shoots. How Eddie found girls.

Then I left the interrogation room, saw the nearest trash can, and vomited.

The cops still in the pen fell silent. I stepped away from the trash can and then sat down against the nearest wall.

I noticed Harkins when he dangled a bottle of water in front of my face. I took it but didn't open it.

"These cases are tough," he said. "I got used to it, I guess, but I'm not proud of it."

I unscrewed the top and took a swig. "You got all that, though?" I asked.

"Yeah, I was watching," he said.

"I have to… I –"

"Go home," Harkins said. "Or back to a shitty motel. Wherever. And eat some saltines."

I almost said Falco was my partner's foster father. But I couldn't walk away from this case – I couldn't recuse myself. I needed to see Falco to prison. I owed that much to Bones, and I wanted that much for my own satisfaction.

When I got back to the motel I saw I had a voicemail from Hannah, but I couldn't bear to talk to her. If I told her about this case, then I wouldn't have anywhere left in my life to be safe from it.

I found my fingers dialing Sweets. It wasn't yet five, so presumably he'd still be in his office.

"_Dr. Lance Sweets speaking,"_ he answered. _What a nerd._

"Yeah, Sweets, it's Booth," I said.

"_Agent Booth, how can I help you?"_

Hell if I know.

"Sweets, you know the case we're working on?"

"_No, actually. No one's told me anything. And did you guys just get back from a forensic science expo in Boston?"_

"Uh, yeah," I said.

"_Why wasn't I invited? I'm, like, totally part of your team."_

I rolled my eyes and rubbed my forehead. "It was just some dumbass professional development, Sweets. Trust me, you didn't miss anything."

"_I'm sure the content of the expo wasn't nearly as important as the team-building that comes from –"_

"Listen, Sweets, can we talk about the case?"

I heard his sigh on the other end of the line. _"Yeah, sure, Agent Booth."_

I told him everything, starting from when Bones recognized the photo right up to Wilson's interrogation.. Well – not _everything. _Just the facts of the case, nothing about me and Bones. He interjected "hmm" and "wow" now and then, but knew better than to interrupt me with psychobabble before I was done talking.

Then I got to the end of Wilson's confession. "He's fingered Brennan's foster dad as the cameraman," I said.

There was a long pause, and then, _"Oh, my God."_

Another long pause.

"Sweets. Focus."

"_I am, Agent Booth. I – I'm just taking a moment to process. Wow."_

"Process faster, Sweets," I snapped. "Because you need to tell me, right now, what you know about Bones's time with the Falcos."

"_No," _he said.

"What do you mean, _no_?" I yelled.

"_I'm bound by confidentiality, Booth," _he said calmly. _"I can't tell you about anything in Dr. Brennan's file."_

"I just found out my _partner _might've been the star of some pervert's peep show, Sweets," I whispered harshly.

"_These are intimate details from Dr. Brennan's past, Agent Booth. You're right to be concerned. But you should talk directly to Dr. Brennan, not me."_

"Bones won't call me back," I said.

"_When did that start?" _he asked, all clinical.

"This isn't one of your sessions, Sweets! You have two options: tell me what I want to know now, or I catch the next flight to D.C., break into your office, and steal _Dr. Brennan's _file."

"_I could hide it," _Sweets murmured.

"Really?" I snapped. "You really think I couldn't get it out of you?"

"_Fine! Fine," _Sweets said. _"I still can't tell you anything about the Falcos."_

"What can you tell me?" I sneered.

"_I can tell you what _isn't _in Dr. Brennan's file. There aren't any allegations of child pornography or sexual abuse."_

I collapsed onto the edge of the motel bed. "Thank God." A huge breath went out of me and I felt my eyes sting a little. My chest felt collapsed with relief. My knees were trembling. "Thank God," I said again.

Sweets wasn't saying anything. My sixth sense perked up again. "So, but uh, that thing where she was locked in a trunk. That's in there, right?"

I heard Sweets sigh._ "No," _he said._ "Dr. Brennan must have never reported it."_

I could think of a few reasons why Bones wouldn't have reported the thing with the trunk. Maybe in her deluded, overly-rational mind it was actually a reasonable form of punishment. After all, they didn't hit her. Maybe she didn't want to get wrapped up in the legal system any more than she had to after her parents' disappearance.

But sexual abuse – she would have known that crossed the line.

Wouldn't she?

"Thanks, Sweets," I said and hung up.

Not out of the dark yet.


	24. Chapter 24

Brennan's POV

_I'm back in the trunk. I'm systematically pounding my feet against the top and the whole car bounces with each kick. I think I hear something between my thumping and I pause to listen._

_There's silence for another moment, but then screaming. "No, please!" someone cries._

_Then closer: "Help me! No – NO!"_

_I'm crashing me feet against the walls, breaking my nails against the closure, but all I can hear is the screaming, now sobbing of a little girl._

Then I was awake.

It wasn't a nightmare I'd had before – some amalgam of my time in the trunk and what I knew about Booth's case, no doubt.

The fact that I had known the nightmare would come didn't make it any easier. I got out of bed and went to shower. The warm water pounded my coiled muscles. I ran my fingers along the cut, back and forth, and it tingled. It was healing, scab already itchy and dry.

_Think about your Jane Doe, _I told myself. _Think about something productive._

When I got out I called Caroline and asked if she could meet me at the Hoover.

"You're lucky I don't sleep in on Sundays," she huffed.

"It's important," I said.

After I hung up my phone beeped, letting me know (again) that I had a voicemail from Booth. I dismissed the message.

There were only a few other junior agents at the Hoover, bustling past with paperwork and wearing jeans. I found Caroline in a break room, trying to put together an acceptable cup of coffee.

"Dr. Brennan," she said, catching sight of me, "Why are we here? Isn't your esteemed colleague Agent Booth in Chicago?"

I presented her with the coffee I had ordered specially from the diner. She took it immediately but asked suspiciously, "What's this for?"

"I need you to help me identify a Jane Doe," I said.

"Hmmph," she said. "What does this have to do with Chicago?"

"Nothing," I answered.

"What?" she demanded.

"I'm not working with Agent Booth on this case."

"Oh, I do not like the sound of this," she muttered. We both walked out of the break room.

"Actually, you should very much like the sound of it," I said. "I recused myself from the case because I know one of the suspects. If I had not recused myself it would have threatened your ability to prosecute."

Caroline took a file from a passing Agent and eyeballed me. "Uh, huh," she said.

We were walking again.

"Although eventually I will have to leave my partnership with Agent Booth," I said.

"Why! Cherie, we talked about this. You've got a good thing going on, here." She sounded almost gentle. _Almost._

"True, but you can hardly expect Agent Booth to be chasing suspects into his sixties and seventies." She rolled her eyes. "And I expect you, yourself, have considered the possibility of a judgeship."

"Alright, I'm listening," she sniffed.

"Dr. Edison, actually, is quite capable of filling my shoes," I said.

"I meant about the _Jane Doe_, Dr. Brennan," Caroline replied.

"Oh," I said. "Jane is from southern Africa, most likely Zimbabwe. Approximately 1.58 meters tall –"

"How about we skip to the punch line, Dr. Brennan," she said flatly.

"Right. I suspect our Jane Doe was a recent immigrant to the United States at her time of death. Her remains were found in 2008 in a quarry that was shut down in 2004. She also had a diagnosis of HIV, which means she would have needed a waiver of inadmissibility to enter the country prior to 2010, assuming she entered the country legally. Including other descriptors such as height and weight, it should be reasonably possible to identify her through U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services."

We had arrived in a conference room. Caroline took a seat at the end of the table and glared at me.

"You want me to just call up USCIS, tell them I may or may _not_ have a legal immigrant that _might_ have come here within a four year window from _some place_ in southern Africa, that had HIV, and ask them to just take a look? I can tell you what they'd say right now, but you'd have to wash your ears out with soap after."

"I can give you specific height, weight, and a facial reconstruction from Angela," I pressed. "Dr. Hodgins isn't available to estimate time of death, but we can narrow the window to between 2004 and 2007 given that the remains were skeletonized."

She raised her brows. "Dr. Brennan, are you _guessing?_"

I shifted and folded my arms defensively. "I'm trying to make my request more acceptable," I said.

Caroline laid her hands flat on the table. "Dr. Brennan, you haven't even told me if this woman was murdered."

"Four shots to the chest," I said. "With the bullets dug out, probably with a knife."

Now I had her attention. She was frowning. At last she said, "Call up Agent Perota. If I'm gonna do this, you better be ready to open a formal murder investigation."

"Fine," I said. "I'll call her now."

"Fine," Caroline snapped back.

I left the conference room to seek out Agent Perota.

I was making my way down to the parking garage when someone called me back.

"Dr. Brennan, what are you doing here?"

Sweets. _Damn._

"I had a meeting with Ms. Julian," I said, and continued walking.

I heard him jogging after me. "Woah, hold up!"

I turned around and folded my arms.

"Hi," he smiled, stopping in front of me.

"How can I help you, Dr. Sweets?" I asked. "I have an appointment so –"

He held up a hand. "I know you don't want to talk to me, Dr. Brennan. But," he looked at a passing junior agent, "actually, could you just step into my office for a minute?"

I sighed and glanced longingly at the elevator.

"Please, Dr. Brennan. It's important."

I clenched my jaw in frustration. "Fine."

Sweets closed the door after me. "Do you want to sit down?" he asked, gesturing to the couch. I didn't move. "No, okay," he said. He put his hands in his pockets and stood in front of me.

"Dr. Brennan I understand the case Booth is working on in Chicago involves one of your former foster families."

I shifted my bag on my shoulder and didn't say anything.

"Last night Agent Booth informed me that your former foster parent Eddie Falco was involved in the manufacture of child pornography."

It felt like I had been punched in the stomach. There was pain, but also difficulty breathing. My throat felt constricted.

_So they were involved after all._

"I can see Agent Booth hadn't yet shared that information with you," Sweets said softly. What, were my eyes watering? How could he tell?

"It doesn't matter," I said firmly. "I recused myself from the case. It has nothing to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you," he said quietly, passionately. "Whether or not you trusted or liked the Falcos, you were dependent on their care at a very vulnerable and painful time in your life." He paused. "Were they making child pornography while you stayed with them?"

"No," I snapped. "I would've reported it immediately."

"But you didn't report when you were locked in a trunk for two days," he said.

My throat was even tighter and there was pressure behind my cheeks. When I spoke my voice was throaty and hoarse. "That was different," I said. "I knew the Falcos didn't like me – I knew I'd only have to stay with them for a little while longer before I was moved again."

"The Falcos were the ones that locked you in the trunk?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," I admitted. "But that doesn't matter – it has no relation to child pornography."

"It was another form of abuse," Sweets said. "And indicative of a sadistic, controlling personality."

"So what? If I had reported them Megan would never have been killed?" I cried.

"Is that what you think, Dr. Brennan?" Sweets asked.

I turned around to whip the door open, but he was in front of me.

"You can't walk away from this one, Dr. Brennan," he said. "It's too big."

I reached around him for the knob.

"You were sixteen, Dr. Brennan. It wasn't your responsibility. Other people were supposed to –"

I wrenched open the door, sending him stumbling, and strode down the hallway. My throat convulsed and I was about to cry. I had to seize on something, and the anger was close and within my reach.

_Booth._

I pulled out my phone and dialed.


	25. Chapter 25

Booth's POV

I was at a diner again with Clark when my phone rang. I saw who was calling and answered immediately.

"Bones, thank God –"

_"How dare you, Booth."_

I was ready to be yelled at. In some ways it felt good – I could get what I deserved and then move on.

"I know, Bones. I'm sorry. I'm –"

_ "You had no right, Booth. You had no right to talk to Sweets."_

Back up. How did she know? Clark shot me a look and then buried his face in his glass of orange juice.

_"I told you just one week ago not to talk to Sweets about me. And then you tell him about Falco before telling me? So I had to hear it from him?"_

"Woah – hang on. You weren't answering your phone. How _could_ I have told you?"

_"That doesn't mean you had to tell him! I've always_ _respected your privacy."_

"Yeah, like that time with Hacker?" I snapped. _Why did you just bring that up? _Stupid! I put and elbow on the table and rested my head on my hand. "Forget I just said that, Bones."

_"You're comparing your fear of hard-boiled eggs to my time living with a child pornographer."_

"Just forget it, Bones."

_"Screw you, Booth."_

"Wait – Bones –"

She hung up on me.

"God damn it!" I yelled.

The diner quieted. Clark gave me a look.

I had to get back to D.C. I could not be having these conversations over the phone anymore.

"You know, Agent Booth," Clark started, "I'm not one to talk about personal affairs with my work colleagues –"

"Yeah," I said cutting him off. "Exactly."

Clark closed his mouth and raised his eyebrows. "Right," he said, and went back to eating.

Of course I regretted it a moment later. "Sorry, Clark. I'm – what were you going to say."

"It's not important," he said.

My phone rang, but it wasn't Bones.

"Booth," I answered.

_"Agent Booth, I have good news," _Harkins said. _"We're bringing in Eddie Falco."_

Clark came with me to the station this time. "I think seeing some of the suspects might give me ideas on cause of death," he said. I didn't care – I just wanted to get at Falco.

By the time I was striding the halls of the police station I was feverish with anger and my fist was itching for blood. Harkins looked like he hadn't got much sleep; his round cheeks were sagging.

"Falco's not saying much," Harkins said. "We're stalling on the lawyer, but I doubt you'll have any luck."

"Yeah, he's the one in control," I muttered.

"Well, we've probably got him on the child pornography, since the photos were taken in his house," Harkins said. "But we got nothing for the murder except Wilson's testimony. And the skeleton in the basement, I guess, but if we can't get some solid forensic evidence a jury wouldn't convict. Welcome to jury duty in the era of CSI."

"That's why I'm here," Clark said. "If you'll allow me to watch the interview I'm hoping for some insights."

Harkins looked over his shoulder as we walked. "What? A forensic geek out of the lab?"

"Yeah, that's how we roll," I quipped.

And then we were at the door; Eddie Falco was on the other side. I took a deep breath before I went in.

"Hello, Eddie," I said. "I'm Agent Booth with the FBI. You've got yourself some federal attention."

Falco crossed his arms and leaned back, doing his best to show disdain. He had a high-and-tight haircut from his army days, although he had been dishonorably discharged after a fight with a superior officer. His denim shirt fit his trim frame but his eyes were a little yellow from cigarettes. He didn't look any more stressed than when we had interviewed him over the bones found in his house.

He was not going to be as easy as Wilson. Wilson was a dependent personality, eager to please and easy to manipulate. Falco was used to doing the manipulating.

"I'm not talking without a lawyer," Falco said.

"Yeah," I said. "So I hear."

Falco just stared at me stonily.

"So your buddy Wilson flipped," I said. "Says you found him on the internet, offered him a boatload of cash for raping little girls on camera. Pretty good money-making scheme. You're aboveboard because you never touch the girls. Maybe you figured you were doing a public service, bankrupting perverts."

The same glare.

"You know we figure your wife must've known about it. Guess she liked what the money bought her. She must be a sick bitch."

Still no response. And I thought the man might actually care about his wife.

A muscle in my face jumped. I was already pissed off and my rage was just bouncing back off him.

"You want to know how the Postal Inspectors came to find your house?" I asked. "You and I both know you were too careful routing your IP to get caught that easy." I had his attention. He had thought his scheme was full-proof, and wanted to know where he had failed. His ego demanded it.

I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through the pictures. I found a shot of Bones at the Founding Fathers, smiling next to Angela. So happy.

I sent the phone skidding across the table. Falco caught the phone automatically. I had him hooked.

"Do you recognize the woman on the right?" I asked.

He leaned and squinted for a second. Then he said, "Oh, that little smartass _bitch._" His face transformed into a snarl."I should've let her starve in that trunk. I should've fucked her with a knife –"

I slammed his head into the table and then threw them both backwards. Falco was on the floor and my fist was pounding against flesh and teeth.

I barely registered the sound of the door busting open, or the arms grabbing on my shoulders.

_"Godammit, Booth!" _I heard Harkins yell and I was dragged off Falco. I lashed out with a foot but Falco was getting farther away.

I was thrown against a wall. Three cops were looming nearby.

"Godammit, Booth, what the hell was that!" Harkins was yelling, face red as a tomato again. "Your little stunt could blow this case, asshole!"

My ears were ringing and dots spun in my eyes. I realized someone was still restraining one of my arms.

"Booth," Clark said. I looked down and realized he was the one still gripping me. "Think, Agent Booth."

"Consider yourself off the fucking case," Harkins snarled. "See him out of here," he yelled at someone else.

"This isn't what Dr. Brennan needs from you now, Agent Booth," Clark said fervently.

He was right. My fist was stinging and aching and my back was burning, probably thrown out as I was dragged out of the room. I looked back through the open door and saw Falco on the floor, hands extended helplessly and face caved in with blood.

"Yeah, I'm done here," I said.


	26. Chapter 26

Brennan's POV

My phone was ringing again. The little screen blinked _Booth._

A moment later my phone chimed, alerting me to a new message.

Knowing it would probably just make me more angry, I picked up the phone and dialed my voicemail.

The first voicemail was from two nights ago, after Booth more or less called me a heartless automaton.

"_I'm going to stop calling now, Bones, so you can sleep. But I want to say I'm really sorry, Bones." _He sighed. _"I didn't want to do that on voicemail. Please call me back."_

Then he disconnected.

The second message was from this morning, before I called him about his thoughtless disclosures to Dr. Sweets.

"_It's been over twenty-four hours, Bones." _A pause. _"I need to hear your voice. Please. This case is…"_

He ended the message without finishing his sentence.

And then there was the message from just a few minutes ago.

"_I just destroyed Eddie Falco's face, Bones." _It felt like my heart lifted in my rib cage. I shouldn't delight in violence, and yet somehow this was the nicest thing Booth had done for me in months. _"And you can tell Sweets all about it, if you want. Distract him with my deep well of hidden rage or whatever." _There was a pause as Booth talked to someone in the background. _"I'm flying back to D.C. tonight, and I want to see you to apologize face-to-face." _ The happy feeling quickly spiraled into anxiety. _"But I won't come by if you don't want me around. I'm gonna respect your space, Bones, and I won't come until you call me."_

He hung up.

No. Absolutely not. I couldn't see him yet – not when suddenly he knew so many of my mortifying secrets. It simply wasn't an even playing field. Booth now knew more about me than I knew about Booth. I was therefore vulnerable. Anxious. Tired from trying so hard not to think about the Falcos _or_ Booth. I needed to be strong when I saw him, ready to hear horrible secrets, and able to remain composed in the face of his attempts to crack my exterior.

_You're safe, you're home._ I told myself. _No one can touch you here._

I had a sudden flashback to that night a week ago, in the rain with Booth. I had collapsed against my door and chanted, _You're out of the car, you're safe. He doesn't know anything._

But he _did _know my secret, this time.

I turned off my phone so I wouldn't have to hear if he tried to call me again.

I lay in bed, dreading sleep.

Angela didn't know all of my secret, but she probably told Hodgins what she knew. Clark no doubt knew everything after working in close proximity with Booth. Sweets might even know more than I did. Cam was the only one that didn't know, which wouldn't last for long at the Jeffersonian. I'd have to face them all at work tomorrow – their pitying glances, their soft voices, their unasked questions that would fill the room like the mastodon that had once stood on the forensic platform.

But their pity just pushed me farther away. I didn't want their pity, I wanted their respect. The strong persona I had built was falling apart. Everything was falling apart.

I slept fitfully, not deeply enough to dream. In my waking moments I tried to focus on Jane Doe or details of Zack's escape, the two diversions that weren't tainted by fresh dramas. By the time the sun rose I had finished two cups of tea and responded to all of the e-mails in my inbox. My editor was looking for updates on my progress and a synopsis of where I intended to take the next Kathy Reichs novel. I gave him some vague details about the terrorist cadaver in D.C. without committing to a resolution between Kathy and Andy. When I got dressed for work I donned the best battle armor I knew – excepting my Wonder Woman costume, of course. I chose a black suit and a gold-plated necklace from my time as a student in India.

Angela was the first to find me hovering over the skeleton of Jane Doe.

"Hey," she said. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine," I answered, leaning in over the bullet marks on Jane's ribs.

"Do you want me to give you details of what's happened on the case?" she offered gently.

I bristled at her kind tone. Already even she was perceiving me as weak. Of course, it would've been nice if someone had filled me in _before _I had been cornered by Sweets.

"No, Angela," I said. "I know Falco is in custody. Dr. Edison is perfectly capable of completing the casework."

Then I saw Cam's heels approach the table. "Dr. Brennan," she said. "I didn't expect to see you today."

"Why not?" I said, shooting a dirty look from under my brows. _Leave me alone!_

Someone else entered the room. "Hey, Angela, have you seen – Oh, Dr. Brennan," Hodgins said. "I – how are you?"

I snapped up from my position over the bones, ready to lash out and send them scurrying, but Agent Perota knocked at the doorway, offering me a better getaway. I took a deep breath and composed myself.

"Agent Perota, have you spoken with Ms. Julian?"

"Yes," she answered, "and miraculously the USCIS came up with just one woman that obtained a waiver of inadmissibility matching your description and Angela's sketch." She extended a folder.

I flipped to the first page, a copy of her waiver of inadmissibility. Her name was Charity Kavhutema.

"She had a fiancé," I said. "That's why they let her into the country."

"This is the Jane Doe you were working on Friday? The one I sketched?" Angela asked.

Cam looked between Angela and me. "I don't remember authorizing –"

"Angela did it as a personal favor," I interrupted.

Agent Perota shot Dr. Saroyan a nervous glance but continued speaking. "Her fiancé was an American doctor, Patrick Olsen. He was working for an international aid agency in Zimbabwe and treated Charity's father. That's how they met."

"Why didn't he report her missing?" I demanded.

Agent Perota gave a grim smile. "Exactly my thinking, Dr. Brennan. It turns out Dr. Olsen himself has been a missing person since 2005. Although his sister is still living in Alexandria."

"Let's go," I said, shooting Dr. Saroyan a look that said _just try and stop me._

It was a short drive from D.C. to Alexandria, Virginia. Dr. Olsen's sister probably chose the area for the easy commute, although she may have been attracted by the exclusivity. Alexandria's revived historical neighborhoods, complete with wrought iron lampposts and colonial church steeples, gained value with each passing year, much like an aged vintage wine.

"So," Agent Perota began, "it's been a while since we last worked together, but I'll try to live up to Agent Booth."

I just nodded noncommittally and said, "Hmm."

"At least Agent Booth isn't a suspect this time," she smirked.

I didn't answer.

We pulled onto a street of brick townhouses lined with pear trees. It was another cloudy winter day; more snow might arrive in the afternoon. Agent Perota pulled to the curb and we stepped into the cold.

"I'm always grateful for your insights in the field, Dr. Brennan," she said, "but why don't I take the lead on the beginning of this interview?"

We mounted the steps to one of the identical units and rang the doorbell.

"Fine," I acquiesced. Booth's requests never stopped me from interrupting.

There were footsteps and then the door opened to reveal a blond woman in her early thirties. She had prominent zygomatic arches and mandible consistent with the Nordic origins of her surname.

"Can I help you?" she asked, looking between us.

"Linnea Olsen?" Perota asked.

"Yes?"

Agent Perota flashed her badge. "I'm Agent Perota with the FBI and this is Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute. May we come in for a moment?"

We sat on white leather couches, which I considered to be the peak of impractical extravagance. How could you keep them clean? Linnea Olsen herself was wearing sweatpants and a cashmere sweater.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I just got off my shift two hours ago."

"Are you a doctor?" Agent Perota asked conversationally.

"Yes, I – I'm sorry, what is this about?"

Agent Perota pulled out Charity Kavhutema's passport photo and Angela's sketch. "Do you recognize this woman?"

Linnea Olsen took the photo and frowned. "No – I'm sorry. Was she one of my patients or something?" She handed the photo back.

"This is going to be a little difficult, Ms. Olsen, but I'd like to ask you some questions about your brother, Dr. Patrick Olsen."

"Patrick?" Linnea said. Her cheeks paled. "Does that woman have something to do with Patrick?"

"She was his fiancé," I said.

_"What?"_

Agent Perota shot me a look, which I ignored.

"I know this is difficult, Ms. Olsen –" Perota began.

"It's impossible," Linnea interrupted. "I would have met her. He would have introduced me to her. Or at least mentioned her."

"He brought her to the United States in 2005, when he returned from his aid work in Zimbabwe," Agent Perota offered.

Linnea Olsen just continued to shake her head. "That's right before he disappeared," she murmured.

"Did Patrick ever mention the name Charity Kavhutema?" Agent Perota tried.

"No, no, never," Linnea insisted. Then, accusingly, "Is that the woman? Did she kill him?"

"Charity Kavhutema was shot four times in the chest and buried in an abandoned quarry," I said sharply. "And as far as we know, your brother is still alive."

_"Dr. Brennan," _Agent Perota hissed.

"Oh, my God," Linnea said, voice rising in pitch. "Do you think – do you think whoever killed her, killed Patrick?"

"I have no reason to believe that, Ms. Olsen," Agent Perota said gently. "At this point I'm only investigating the circumstances surrounding Charity Kavhutema's death."

But Ms. Olsen was crying, now, rocking slightly and covering her mouth with a cashmere sleeve.

"Ms. Olsen?" Agent Perota tried. "Clearly this is difficult…"

"He was acting so _strangely _after he got back," Linnea hiccupped. "I thought he was just… I thought he was having trouble adjusting after living there for so long. After the things he'd seen. He didn't want to talk about it." Agent Perota pulled a tissue from her pocket and offered it. Linnea snatched it but didn't wipe her face. "And then I saw him with a gun!"

Agent Perota's eyebrows shot skyward. "You didn't mention that in your report to the police," she said.

"No," Linnea wailed. "He told me – he told me it was just for burglaries. In his bedroom. I didn't – I didn't want to tell the police because then they'd think he had done something to deserve – to deserve…" She broke down into incoherent sobs.

After asking a few more questions Agent Perota extracted us from the scene. I was more than eager to leave – watching Linnea Olsen cry had stirred up a strange combination of revulsion and self-pity.

"Well that answers a lot of questions," Agent Perota said, jogging down the front steps.

"Like what?" I asked, confused.

Perota raised her brows and climbed in the driver's seat. "Well now we probably know who killed Charity Kavhutema."

I scoffed and buckled my seatbelt. "Based on what evidence?"

"Based on the evidence that seventy-percent of the time women are killed by their romantic partner. Olsen was probably regretting the romance when he was back in the states, so didn't tell his sister. Gets a gun, shoots her, and then panics and goes on the run."

"Digging four bullets out of a woman's chest doesn't suggest a crime of passion," I complained. "It suggests a professional hit."

Agent Perota shook her head. "Olsen was smart, a doctor."

"Besides, why kill Charity? They weren't even married yet," I protested.

Agent Perota sighed and shrugged. "Men do stupid, violent things in love."

_Like go to Afghanistan to hunt terrorists,_ I thought to myself, followed immediately by, _Don't think about Booth, Temperance._

Agent Perota didn't have me convinced. She incorrectly applied statistics to an individual scenario. She had no evidence. I hadn't even finished examining the bones.

"I'm going to try and dig more up on Patrick Olsen. Do you want me to drop you back at the lab?" Agent Perota asked.

"Yes," I said. "I think Charity still has more to tell us."


	27. Chapter 27

Booth's POV

I had a shit ton of paperwork to do. I didn't regret assaulting Falco, but in the future I would make sure to always assault dirt bags _off _camera. For now I was on desk duty.

Like Hacker, my back wasn't happy with me, either. I hadn't quite thrown it out during my scuffle in Chicago, but there was a horrible twang every time I twisted or reached for a new pen.

Desk duty, bum back, and all, I was still relieved to be back in D.C. Sure, Bones hadn't called me back yet, but at least now if she avoided me too long I could go stalk her at her apartment. If I knew Bones well enough, though, it would go a long way that I had assaulted Falco. She'd probably be jealous she didn't get to punch the guy out herself. Fine members of the Justice Department, we are.

There was a knock on my door. I looked up.

"Hannah!" I went to stand up but was crippled halfway. "Ah, God!" I yelped. "My back!"

Hannah ran over to help me back into my chair.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"Eh, I kind of threw out my back," I said. "I thought you were in Boston."

"Just got in," she said. "I thought I'd surprise you."

She leaned in for a quick kiss. I didn't involve my arms for fear of exacerbating my back problems. When she pulled back I stared at her – hard. It felt nice to see her, definitely. Nice. I traced my eyes over the details of her face, trying to stir up –

"What are you staring at?" she asked. "Is there cinnamon and sugar on my nose? I just ate a pretzel."

"No, no," I said, and then turned away. I felt… disappointed. _Oh, no. Do _not_ go there, _I told myself.

"Actually I just lied a little," she said, taking a seat on top of the paperwork on my desk.

"Really," I said, rolling back to make room. I made my face into a smile.

"I came to see you because I'm worried. All I've gotten the past four days have been text messages. I told myself I was reading way too much into the situation, but then I decided I should go with my gut."

I sighed. For the first time in a long time, I wished the woman I was with didn't have a lick of intuition. _Bones never would have said that._

_ WOAH, cowboy._

"Uh, yeah, it was a hard case," I said quickly. I pulled a piece of paperwork from underneath her thigh. She shifted to make room.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

I scratched my scalp with a pen, then flinched.

"Or do you want a massage?" she offered instead.

"Oh, absolutely," I said.

She hopped off the desk and helped me out of my suit jacket. Then her fingers were prodding my shoulders. My back tweaked a little with each pinch, but it also felt good. Sometimes you have to work through the pain to get relief.

"Oh, yeah," I mumbled.

"So what upset you about Chicago?" she asked.

I sighed. "It was a kid. Who had been sexually abused."

She didn't say anything for a minute. Then, "Back in Afghanistan the hardest thing were always the kids. You do stories about violent bombings every day, and it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Then the network wants you to do a personal interest piece on a family of children orphaned by a suicide bomber, and everything changes."

I remembered the kid of a translator almost kidnapped before my eyes. For a minute my heart hurt. It was right to be here, with Parker; as a father that was my first responsibility. But sometimes I still thought about the other people I had left behind, the people I wasn't helping.

"Did you catch the murderer?" Hannah asked.

I rotated a sore shoulder and Hannah shifted the direction of her hands.

"Pretty much," I said. "I don't know, actually. They kicked me off the case." No secrets among romantic partners, right?

To her credit Hannah's hands didn't hesitate. She just took a moment before asking, "Why?"

"I assaulted a suspect."

"Oh," she said. "That – I was going to say that doesn't seem like you, but in a case like this…"

"He was Dr. Brennan's foster dad," I murmured.

This time her hands stopped.

"Did he – did he touch –"

"I don't think so," I said, "but I'm not one-hundred percent sure."

Hannah let go of my back and walked around so she was facing me. Then she wrapped her arms around me. I managed to bend one arm at the elbow to pat her back.

"You know, I'm not really the one that needs comforting, here," I said.

"Yeah," she said, pulling back, "you can just give Dr. Brennan that hug for me."

"Right," I said. If she would ever give me the chance.


	28. Chapter 28

Brennan's POV

In fact Charity had almost nothing left to tell me without the help of my usual colleagues. I pulled out her artifact bag and lay her possessions on the table. A delicate metal cross. A damaged plastic subway card. Some seashells. Some glass beads, all that remained from an unknown piece of jewelry. I fingered the subway card. If the whole team had been working on this case, I'd simply ask Angela to see if she could glean any information. Could a subway card contain _any _information?

I checked my watch. Time passed quickly indoors – I had no window out of which to see night fall. It was almost four o'clock.

I slipped the subway card into an evidence bag, got my coat and keys, and made my way to the parking garage.

I couldn't remember an occasion upon which I had willingly consulted a forensic technician at the FBI. But there was no reason I shouldn't try.

When I arrived at the Hoover I decided to find Agent Perota, who hopefully could recommend a competent analyst. I was trying to find her office when I found myself automatically straying down Agent Booth's corridor. I slowed and considered turning around. Then I decided that would be childish. I would simply walk right past his office. He would never even notice.

His door was a few inches ajar. As I neared the glass windows I heard his voice.

"Pretty much. I don't know, actually. They kicked me off the case."

Then I heard Hannah's voice: "Why?"

"I assaulted a suspect."

"Oh," Hannah said. "That – I was going to say that doesn't seem like you, but in a case like this…"

I took one more step so I could see inside the few inches of open doorway. Hannah's hands were smoothing Booth's back. I barely heard what he said next.

"He was Dr. Brennan's foster dad."

My ears were ringing. I sped away silently, but then I was jogging, stumbling down the stairwell, rushing to my car. My heart thundered against my ribcage. I slammed shut the door of my Prius and collapsed against the steering wheel.

_How could you, Booth? How could you?_

Sharing my deepest secrets with the woman I hated the most in the whole world.

I hiccupped, surprised by the ridiculous assertion I had just made. How irrational.

Then I was sobbing again.

This hurt worse than when he told me he loved her. This was complete betrayal, deep and hot and sharp and entirely indescribable.

This is what it felt like when my parents and Russ left.

This is what it felt like to be completely alone.

My phone was ringing. I ignored in the first time, but then it was jingling again, insistent.

I dug in my bag, going more by touch than my blurry sight. I pressed the tears from my eyes before looking at the number. I didn't recognize it.

Habit had me pressing the answer button.

"Brennan," I said, my voice thick.

_"Dr. Brennan with the Jeffersonian Institution?"_

"Yes," I answered. I grabbed a tissue from my purse to swab at my face.

_"This is Linnea Olsen. We spoke this morning?"_

The Charity case. "Yes," I said. "I remember."

_"I need to meet with you. I'm in the city. Can you meet me on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial? Now?"_

I looked at the clock. It was about five. "Now?" I asked.

_"Yes," _she said. _"Please, it's urgent."_

"Should I bring Agent Perota?" I asked.

_"No – no cops. Please – just you."_

She hung up.

Tears effectively shocked out of me, I started the ignition and pulled out of the parking garage. At a red light I turned on my interior light and swiped the blurred makeup from under my eyes. I added fresh powder to hide the redness.

As I stepped out of my car a harsh winter wind blew off the reflection pool. I wrapped my arms tight around my body and jogged to the shelter of the Lincoln Memorial.

Ms. Olsen was sitting on the steps, huddled against the cold and rocking slightly. She was wearing a coat, but it didn't look like she had changed out of this morning's clothes. She stood up as soon as she saw me and hurried over.

"Ms. Olsen, what is this –"

"Take this," she said, thrusting a manila envelope towards me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't want to know. He gave it to me a few days before he disappeared and told me to keep it safe. He told me not to give it to _anyone_, but I can't hold onto it anymore. I don't want to. I just want this all to end."

"Ms. Olsen, what do you mean?" I pressed.

"I'll deny this if you tell anyone," she said. "I'll say my brother was crazy. I'll say I have no idea what he was talking about."

She was walking backwards, away from me.

"Ms. Olsen, please," I said.

She shook her head. "I don't want to die." And then she turned and ran.

For a moment I stood there holding the envelope. It all felt so silly. The secret meeting by the Lincoln Memorial, secret packages… it felt like I was in the middle of a John Bond movie.

It was too cold to stand around and contemplate Ms. Olsen's erratic behavior. I decided to drive back to my apartment before opening up her envelope.

When I settled on the couch to open the envelope, I was expecting the ravings of a lunatic or possibly an illegal money stash. I wasn't expecting the medical file of Charity Kavhutema's father, Thomas Kavhutema. Thomas was treated for appendicitis, a relatively routine procedure for a doctor such as Olsen. However, after the surgery Olsen noted in his file that Thomas was given a transfusion of an experimental blood substitute, Hemofree. That was somewhat odd considering an appendectomy was a relatively minor surgery.

I turned to the end of the file. Taped to one of the last page in the folder were three newspaper articles. All covered the razing of a village outside Harare, a major city. I saw Thomas Kavhutema was listed among the dead. The articles identified the incident as looting by enemies of President Mugabe.

The final page listed a series of dates:

_2/13 T.K. Hemofree_

_2/15 T.K. discharged_

_3/16 C.K. reports T.K. delusional, hallucinations, pain; T.K. hospitalized_

_3/17 T.K. lumbar puncture, elevated 14-3-3 protein_

_3/18 Hemofree stores removed_

_3/19 T.K. disappears from hospital; village near Kufunda destroyed_

Although I wasn't a pathologist, I could guess what Dr. Olsen's "elevated 14-3-3 protein" comment meant: Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease, the human form of Mad Cow.

I returned to the first note in Dr. Olsen's timeline. T.K. was most likely Thomas Kavhutema's initials. The date, 2/13, corresponded to the date of his appendectomy. Similarly, 2/15 was the date Kavhutema was discharged from the hospital. Usually a patient could walking twelve hours after an appendectomy; I presumed Kavhutema's longer hospital stay was due to the unusual blood transfusion.

Hemofree was a hemoglobin-based oxygen carrier, a manufactured substitute for red blood cells. A red blood cell substitute was a high priority in the medical community, especially in Africa, where donated blood was scarce and more likely to be tainted with HIV or other viruses. Almost a dozen companies were currently vying for FDA approval of an oxygen-carrying blood substitute, Hemofree among them. Many of these companies had tested their blood substitutes on human subjects in African hospitals, where patients were too poor and desperate to object.

One month after his Hemofree transfusion C.K., presumably Charity Kavhutema, had showed up at the hospital because her father was delusional, reporting hallucinations, and complaining of "pain." Dr. Olsen then tested for Thomas Kavhutema for Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, or Mad Cow.

My heart was pounding.

That could not be a mere coincidence. Why? Because Hemofree was derived from the blood of slaughtered cows. I had heard about Hemofree's bid for FDA approval in the news, and knew that the company claimed their purification process screened out prion pathogens such as Mad Cow. Perhaps they had improved their purification process since the incident in Zimbabwe.

Dr. Olsen had been suspicious, too. Before he could perform electroencephalography or an MRI, his patient had disappeared. Hemofree was somehow removed from his place of work, and Thomas Kavhutema was listed among the dead in a supposed act of political violence.

The story came together in my mind. Dr. Olsen suspected that an entire village had been razed to cover up the use of a tainted, untested product. Charity Kavhutema evidently survived the attack, possibly as a witness. Angela would probably say Charity and the doctor fell in love. I suspected they faked an engagement so he good bring her to the United States as a witness.

This had all happened in 2005. I had no doubt any documents about possible malfeasance regarding Hemofree were long-since shredded. If I could examine Thomas Kavhutema's remains, I could possibly prove foul play. Alternatively there might be another witness in Zimbabwe. Not that contacting the Zimbabwean police would do any good – the country was on the edge of political collapse and the police were busy arresting foreigners on trumped-up charges.

The anger boiled deep in my gut. I had seen this before – entire villages destroyed, pawns in the games of "greater" men. In Guatemala and El Salvador I had stood neck-deep in mass graves, trying to give the most fundamental of our being, our identity, back to women and children slaughtered en masse. Sometimes I tried to identify them under the very noses of the soldiers that had massacred them. I remembered the words of my once mentor, Michael Stires:

"We tell the truth. We do not flinch."

These people deserved to have the truth told – and I was the only one left to do so.

I called up my father an hour or so later and asked to meet at the diner.

"I have the photos for the passport," I said, handing him a manila envelope. He unfolded the clasp and looked inside.

"Tempe – why is your photo in here?" he asked.

"Because I'm going, too," I said.

His face tightened, as if in pain. "I just – I'm just getting to know you."

"I know, Dad," I said. I was surprised to hear my own voice quaver. "Someone needs to help Zack get settled. As you said, he's not good at blending in."

"So you'll be back?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. He seized my hand from across the table. I wasn't sure if I was lying or not, and he could tell.


	29. Chapter 29

Booth's POV

I woke up Tuesday morning and my back was officially shot.

"Oooh, God," I groaned. I hadn't even moved yet.

"Mmmph," Hannah mumbled. "My massage didn't help?"

"Guess not," I grumbled. What I wouldn't give for Bones's magic fingers.

I endured the humiliation of Hannah helping me into my lumbo-jumbo girdle and then to the couch.

For a second she just stood there and looked at me. "Should I get a blanket or something? Or, like, crackers?"

"My back hurts, I'm not nauseous," I laughed. Which of course led to, "Ow."

"Not gonna lie, I don't have a lot of experience being nursemaid," Hannah said.

"Good, because I'm a crappy patient," I grumbled. "Just – grab the painkillers and stop by the Hoover and grab some of my paperwork or something."

Hannah left my cell phone within my reach, on the chance that Bones would call me. So when it ringed I picked up immediately.

"Booth."

_"Agent Booth, welcome back to D.C."_

"Aw, come on, Caroline, my back's out."

_"This is a personal call, Agent Booth."_

"Wha – it is?" Maybe my painkillers were kicking in already.

_"Yes, Agent Booth, after some thinking I've decided to grace you with some of my highly prized personal advice."_

I groaned and pressed a hand against my eyes.

_"What was that, Agent Booth?"_

"I'm totally paying attention."

_"Uh, huh. I had an interesting conversation with your partner on Sunday."_

"Bones?"

_"The one and only. You didn't do something to piss her off, did you?" _While I was debating how to answer that she said, _"I thought so."_

"Why, what happened?" I asked. I tried to sit up, grimaced, and fell back uselessly to the pillows.

_"She was buttering me up, talking 'bout how _wonderful _Dr. Edison was at his job. Talking 'bout how you and she couldn't be chasing suspects forever."_

"I knew it!" I hissed. All those comments about Clark – she _was_ trying to set up a replacement.

_"So have you apologized?" _she demanded.

"Of course," I snapped. "She just… hasn't called me back."

_"Well you better buy her a mummy or something and fix this. Consider yourself warned."_

She hung up.

I closed my eyes and let my hand fall away from my ear. What was I supposed to do? I had told Bones I'd respect her space. Last spring I'd learned the lesson pretty good that you don't push Bones. She quite literally pushes _back._

My phone was ringing in my hand.

"Booth," I answered.

_"Booth, why the hell aren't you in your office?"_

"Max?" I asked. I held the phone away from my ear to take a look. Sure enough, I was getting a call from the original Brennan. Could you say that when he had changed his name? I could hear him yelling at me even with the phone several inches from my ear.

_"Who the hell do you think it is? I've got to talk to you."_

"I'm listening," I griped.

_"So tell me what you did for my kid to want to flee the country."_

I bolted upright, barely noticing the pain shooting down my back. "What? What do you mean?"

_"I made her a promise, so that's all I'm saying. Take it from someone who knows from experience, Booth. Fix the fuck-up before you lose her for good."_

He hung up.

I was panicking, and the adrenaline was thundering against my forehead, fighting against the stupor of the painkillers. I lumbered to my feet, the room spun, and I grabbed the corner of the couch before I hit the floor.

Leave the country? Was he serious?

Just when I thought the threat of Sully had passed, that she wasn't going to run…

Screw not pushing. I needed to see Bones – _now._

_But you can't drive. You're not safe to drive._

Right – at least some of my brain was still functioning.

I dialed Hodgins.

"Hodgins, come pick me up," I barked.

_"Woah," _he laughed. _"What the hell, man?"_

"Remember that time I told you that you were right?"

_"How could I forget? Kenton almost killed Brennan."_

"This is a little like that." I was hobbling in the direction of the bedroom. Should I take another painkiller, or would that just make this more confusing?

_"Okay. Yeah. I'm on my way."_

I leaned against the bedroom door and tried to catch my breath. "Just – you're going to need to help me down the stairs."

_"Wow, this really is like the Cugini case."_

I didn't dignify that with an answer.

I managed to pull on a pair of pants, but it took most of the time of Hodgins' commute. I ended up spread-eagled on the bed, black dots swirling in my vision. _Come on, adrenaline, _I said to myself, _where's that magic painkiller?_

What was I going to say to Bones, anyway?

_I love you._

The words suddenly blinked in my mind like a marquee.

But I couldn't say that to Bones – that's what had her running the first time.

Also, I was in a relationship with Hannah. Hannah. _Focus._

My phone was ringing in my hand.

"Yeah."

_"We're here, Booth, but you need to buzz us up."_

I hung up. "Fuck."

Hodgins called me again when I was halfway to the door. _"You gonna make it?" _he asked.

"Shut up," I snapped. I pressed the buzzer.

Sixty seconds later he was walking through the front door.

Followed by Angela.

"Woah-ho, what's she doing here?" I asked.

Angela crossed her arms and glowered. "Married, remember? He's my ride, too."

"Oh, tell me you didn't drive the mini-cooper," I begged.

"Oh, no, he bought me a baby-mobile," Angela grinned.

"Alright, just, someone help me into my coat and shoes," I said.

Hodgins put on my trench one sleeve at a time while Angela set my feet in my shoes.

"Don't get any ideas, prince charming," she grumbled, tying the laces.

Then they helped me hobble out the door.

"Booth, what is so important that you can't stay in your apartment?" Angela asked, panting as we slowly made our way down the stairs.

"Just take me to see Bones, okay?" I said.

Angela wasn't lying about the baby-mobile. There was a huge minivan sitting next to a parking meter. Angela let me take the front seat for the support, then took the middle seat in the back so she could lean over my shoulder and annoy me with questions.

"Did Bren talk to you at all while you were in Chicago? I'm worried about her, Booth. First that case with the doctor, now this from her past…"

"Yeah, I know," I said. Hodgins started slowing miles before a yellow light. "Hodgins, could you maybe drive a little faster?" I said.

"I am _not _breaking the speed limit with precious cargo," he said firmly.

"I'm pregnant, not an ancient Chinese vase," Angela muttered.

"Accidents are the fifth leading cause of death in the United States," Hodgins said. "And you _know _that whole thing with the Toyota brake pads last year was just a cover-up for serious electrical –"

"It's green, Hodgins!" me and Angela both yelled.

By the time we reached the Jeffersonian I thought my painkillers were really kicking in. If I turned my head too fast the world got sort of blurry, and I couldn't remember the last few minutes of driving. Even better, my back was tingling instead of throbbing.

Hodgins sprinted around the front of the car to help me from the front seat – at least that's what I thought he was doing until he opened the door for Angela.

"How about we make a list of all the things I'm _not_, honey," Angela said. "Let me start. Porcelain, your grandmother, and handicapped." Pushing past Hodgins she threw open my door and undid my seatbelt for me. "Anyway, I consider this practice," she said. "After all Booth is really just a big baby."

I was too busy grimacing to retort.

Fortunately there was an elevator to the forensic section, so I only had to walk short distances in a lateral direction. I had Hodgins and Angela on each arm when we busted through the automatic glass doors facing the forensic platform.

Cam was in the midst of conversation with Bones when they both turned around to see our grand entrance.

"Booth," Cam exclaimed. "What the –"

"Are you wearing your lumbo-sacral support belt?" Bones demanded.

Oh, God, it was so good to hear her voice in person. Even indignant, snooty Bones was better than the silence I'd had to endure over the past few days. My head filled with little pink clouds and stars. Must be a side effect of the medication.

"He made us bring him here," Hodgins said. "And I think he's on pain medication. So… consider that my disclaimer."

"Yeah, I need to talk to you, Bones," I said.

Her hair was all up tight in a bun like a nun. _I rhymed. _I smiled.

Bones didn't look happy. She clenched her jaw and turned to walk away. "I'm busy, Booth," she snapped. "And clearly you don't have a case."

"Bones, wait –" I stepped after her and then cried out in sudden pain.

My vision shrank to pinpoints. For a moment I thought I might black out, but then there was a chair underneath me and Bones was standing in front of me, arms still crossed.

"What, Booth," she snapped.

Something was glittering around her neck. _Focus._

"I need to talk to you, Bones," I said.

"You're repeating yourself," she pointed out.

"Are you running, Bones?"

She stiffened and took a sharp breath through her nose.

"What are you talking about? I'm standing right in front of you, Booth."

"You know what I mean," I said. "You haven't returned my calls. You're trying to set up me and Clark."

"Clark and _me,_ Booth_._"

"Don't – don't try to distract me with my bad grammar," I said. "Don't slip away, Bones," I murmured. My vision blurred for a moment, then sharpened. Her eyes were glinting like muzzle flash.

"You're incoherent, Booth," she said. "Go home."

She was walking away again. I lurched out of the chair and managed to grab her wrist before my vision shrank.

"Booth!" I heard Cam cry. I was shoved back into the chair. When my vision cleared Bones had her hands on the armrests and was leaning over me like a drill sergeant. She smelled like flowers and teak.

"What do you want, Booth?" she cried. "Clearly you're coward enough to use your pain to manipulate me, so spit it out."

"Tell me what's going on, Temperance," I said.

"Why does everyone need to know what's going on!" she said, shoving back off my chair. I moved. It must be a rolly chair. "What do you want me to do? Share all my secrets? Cry? Beg for physical and emotional comfort? Be the archetypal damsel in distress? How is that fair? I'm either a helpless victim or a heartless automaton!"

"That's not true," Angela said forcefully.

"I don't want you to be a victim," I said quickly, "and I know you're not heartless. I just freaked out on the phone, Bones. This case was a _big deal_. I was scared, too."

"So you called Dr. Sweets. Again." She wrapped her arms around herself.

"Like I said, Bones, I was scared," I said. For a moment it felt like the chair was moving again – floating. But no, Bones was just moving in front of me, changing her position.

"So you go and share my secret with whoever will listen?" she scoffed.

"I didn't – Sweets isn't anyone. He's our therapist," I said. "And I'm sorry I hurt you, but I don't regret it. _I _needed comfort, Bones. _I _needed to know you were going to be okay."

"It's true, Bren," I heard Angela jump in. "We've all been worried sick."

"So everybody needs to know my secrets now to be satisfied," Brennan huffed. "Fine. Fine. I'll save you the time of all your investigating. When I was sixteen I was placed in the foster home of Eddie and Maureen Falco. They were cruelly authoritarian, although they made their expectations very clear. If I burned leftovers when I was heating dinner I had to sit in the invisible chair, a stress position Eddie Falco learned from his time in the Marines. When I didn't get a stain out in the laundry Maureen threw the laundry into the garden and made me do it again. When I turned on the radio for the first time Maureen locked me in my closet for eight hours. And when I kept on breaking dishes, Eddie threatened to lock me in the trunk. He locked me in the trunk for two days, over a weekend so I wouldn't be missed at school."

"Bones," I begged. I saw the quiver in her mouth and the glass in her eyes but she plowed onward.

"I didn't report the Falcos because I knew they didn't like me and I'd be gone within the month. I couldn't bear the thought of talking to the police again, therapists, going to court… I never wanted to do any of that ever again after my parents disappeared. I was weak and selfish and if I had reported the Falcos they never would've had Megan Holiday in their care and she would never have been raped and murdered and buried naked in their basement."

"Dr. Brennan, you were six –" Cam began, but Bones cut her off, whirling on me.

"Are you happy now, Booth? Will you go away?"

Everything was falling apart. My head was pounding and I felt nauseous again.

"Bones," I begged, "I'm your partner. Don't send me away."

She barked a laugh. "No, Hannah's your partner, Booth."

She was walking away.

"No, Bones," I said, and got up again, hissed in pain –

"God damn it, Booth," she cried, charging back and forcing me back down into the chair. Her hair was slipping out of the bun and her hands were soft and –

"Don't go, Bones," I begged.

"Why?" she cried, really crying now.

"Because I love you, Bones," I said. That just made her sob harder. "We all love you," I recovered quickly. For a moment she just left her hands on my shoulders and bent her head, shoulders shaking with grief. "Don't cry, Bones," I whispered. "Please, don't cry."

Then she raised her head. "I'm an empiricist, a scientist," she said clearly. "And you've proved to me there's no such thing as love."

I grabbed her wrists. "Bones – I –"

"No, don't lie to me again." She ripped her arms from my grasp, face raw and wild. "Stop hurting me, Booth!"

And then she ran past me, footsteps clapping and farther, and farther, and farther away.

I was too shocked to move, too weak to chase after her. I was broken.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: As always, thank you for the precious reviews. They keep me going!**

* * *

Brennan's POV

I ran to my car. I still had my keys in my pocket, on a huge ring with all the other keys for the lab, so I didn't have to go to my office first. I knew it was a little dangerous to drive while my vision was blurred by tears, but I couldn't stay in the parking garage. Someone would come find me, I knew it.

I automatically drove to my apartment, but as I crashed through the doorway I knew I couldn't stay here, either. Everywhere they could find me, now. Nowhere was safe.

I pulled my suitcase from the closet and started packing clothes. I'd stay at my dad's place; I knew he'd keep people away if I asked him to. I focused on jeans and sweaters; I wouldn't be returning to work. The strong role I had created for myself there was destroyed. I sobbed loudly, angrily, knowing most of my neighbors were at work and wouldn't hear.

Why had Booth pushed me like that? It was pitiless and unnecessary. I had just wanted to end things quietly, with my dignity still intact. I hadn't even planned to rebuke him for his betrayals of my trust. Instead Booth started grandstanding in front of _everyone_, swaying Angela and Cam with his half-truths and bids for sympathy. So quickly they had ganged up on me, while Booth acted like I was the betrayer. Everything had fallen apart; I had fallen apart.

I threw my travel bag on the front seat and revved the engine. The sooner I got away, the sooner I'd feel better.

I arrived at my father's apartment and found the spare key he'd given me for emergencies. I should probably have called him, but I didn't want him to hear me like this. I threw my bag on the foldout couch and curled up on the cushions.

_I love you, Bones._

I sobbed harder. What a cruel lie with which to end our partnership.

When I thought Booth had died, I was able to maintain my composure. Our partnership had played a significant role in my life, but the only thing I lost when Booth died was a friend. Since then Booth had challenged the first principles guiding my life, slowly eroding and cracking my confidence like water running against stone. Two cases struck blows literally close to home, and I had surrendered, crumbling completely. And how had Booth responded? He had abandoned me and hypocritically betrayed the trust he had cultivated.

This time I hadn't only lost Booth, I had lost my sense of self and my dignity as well. I had to go find it again - I had to go find myself the only way I knew how, by going to Zimbabwe and giving back identity to someone else.

My father came home only a couple of hours later. He didn't seem surprised to see me huddled on his couch, face raw and red.

"They told you everything, didn't they?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, "yep."

Then he came over and wrapped me up in his arms.

It was irrational and juvenile but I curled up in his lap anyway. I buried my head in the crook of his neck and wept until my body quivered and quaked and I couldn't cry anymore.

"I'm staying here until we break out Zack," I announced.

"You sure you still want to do that?" he asked.

"You promised me, Dad," I said, voice trembling all over again. "I need this!" I needed to start over, I needed to set right what was wrong. _I _needed to escape.

"Okay, okay," he said. "You've tied my hands."

We made omelets for dinner. Dad offered a game of blitz, but he knew it was a long-shot. Instead I asked to go over the plans we had so far for Zack's escape.

"So, uh, where are you planning on taking him?" Dad asked, taking a sip of his tea.

I shot him a look. "It's better if you don't know. It's called plausible deniability."

"Yeah, I know what it is," he sighed.

He helped me make up the pull-out couch and then we parted ways. I had taken my laptop from my apartment, and against my better judgment, I opened my novel and started writing the final chapters. I knew, now, that Andy would never reciprocate Kathy's love. I suspected this would be the last book in the series.

In the morning I turned my phone on long enough to text Dr. Saroyan that I would be taking a sick day. I had accumulated several weeks of sick leave, after all. I saw there were several other missed calls, but I dismissed them all and turned my phone back off.

Dad made me pancakes, which I made myself eat. He knew better than to make a smiley face with the syrup, though; I couldn't handle anything that reminded me of my childhood just now. After he went into work I stayed in my pajamas and explored his apartment. He had a simple one bedroom, one bathroom arrangement. The kitchen had tile countertops and cabinets from the eighties, but it was perfectly functional. He had made the living space his own with the burgundy recliner and TV tables. The TV served as a mantle, of sorts, with framed photos of my mother, me, Russ and his girls on top.

Then I worked on my novel.

The next day followed similarly from the first. I called in sick. Dad made me breakfast. I wrote. When dad came home he had a surprise for me:

"Passports!" I exclaimed as he slapped them on the counter. "I wasn't sure I believed your assertion that you could acquire them so quickly."

"They're fakes, honey," he laughed. "There's no four to six week waiting period."

"Regardless, I'm impressed," I said. I opened one and had a little jolt when I saw the name.

"Joy Keenan," I said. I picked up Zack's. "And Kevin Keenan."

"Well, I'm a crook, not a magician, honey," Dad said. "It seemed like the easiest option since I still had the birth certificates."

My eyes flicked involuntarily to the photographs on top of the TV.

"Welcome to the family, kid," my father said.

"I'm actually quite adept at adopting alternate identities," I drawled.

"What is that? Your version of Katherine Hepburn?" he asked.

"I'm just trying to get into character," I protested.

He laughed. "You want to get into character? Try channeling your mother."

We fell silent for a moment. I traced my finger across the name in the passport. Joy, now; temperance no more.

"I love you, Dad," I said.

"Hey," he snapped, "don't say that to me like it's some sort of goodbye. You told me you'd come back."

"I know, Dad," I said. "And – thank you."

"Don't thank me," he said, "you practically blackmailed me."

I laughed. "Yes, well, it was my turn. You already helped Russ run away."

"Correction," he said. "I helped your brother disappear. I didn't have to get him a passport or break him out of a loony bin. Are you sure you'll be able to get those documents for the asylum?" he asked.

"Definitely," I said. There were a few errands I would run tomorrow.

Then all I needed was my disguise.


	31. Chapter 31

Booth's POV

_I'm an empiricist, a scientist. And you've proved to me there's no such thing as love… don't lie to me again… Stop hurting me, Booth!_

The words looped over and over again in my mind. Which ones hurt the most?

Sometimes I hated the bit about lying – mostly because I couldn't figure out what I had lied about. But it was clear I had deceived her somehow, however unintentionally.

Then sometimes all I could think about was _stop hurting me. _I knew she had been in pain, but _I _was doing it? Hell, I couldn't contain myself when I saw a woman was in need. When that woman was Bones, I had been known to lash out violently. But when _I _was the cause? It was a kick to the gut, a K.O.

Most of all I hated the first words out of her mouth: _you've proved to me there's no such thing as love._

That's _who I was. _I _was _love to the people I cared about. That was the most important thing in my life. That's why I left Afghanistan: for Parker, for Cam, and even Caroline Julian. Hell, I thought my partnership with Bones had been nothing _but _a testament to love, a series of tests and trials that could be the _Olympics_ of love. Even when she had rejected me – something I'd really only experienced once before in my life, with Rebecca – I showed her respect and stayed her partner, because that's what she needed from me.

After Bones ran out of the forensics unit we were all just stunned for a minute. I drifted a little in my rolling chair and tried to breathe. I looked up and saw there were tears on Cam's cheeks. Hodgins just said, "Woah."

Angela was the first one to react properly. She ran out the doors after Bones, but I already knew it was too late. Bones would be expecting a chase. I knew because usually I'd be the one chasing after her.

But there wasn't anything usual about what had just happened. We had all sensed the moment when the room shattered and Bones broke away – possibly forever. She had finally been pushed too far.

Angela dashed back in. "I can't find her," she said. "Should we try to find her?"

"No," I said. "This is my fault – I shouldn't have pushed her like that. In front of everyone."

Angela was sobbing. I sensed Hodgins moving behind me to wrap her in his arms.

"I think – I think we should all take the day off," Cam said. Then she added sharply, "But don't any of you run out on me, too. Last time Dr. Brennan left you all did." She paused, taking deep breaths. "Don't."

Then she turned away and marched to her office, arms wrapped around her middle.

"Do you need a ride, Booth?" Hodgins asked.

"Yes," I said. Obviously.

I kept my breathing even.

I had to listen to Angela's wails all the way back to the apartment. It just made things worse. Remember what I said about a woman in pain? That applied to Angela, too, even though she was married to Hodgins.

"It'll – it'll be okay, Angela," I managed to say.

"Liar," she choked.

My eyes started to sting.

"Hey – are you okay, man?" Hodgins asked.

"Yeah – it's just my… just my back," I hissed. I turned to the window.

Maybe I would've been okay if I had been able to go into the office, but home alone, back crippled, I was an easy target for the pain. I figured I had a few hours to completely lose it before Hannah came home, so that's what I did.

I wept like a kid, wet and snotty, whole body shaking. The pain in my back stoked the emotion, reminding me to cry again whenever my breathing started to even. And there were always four words I could think of when my tears needed more fuel:

_I love you, Bones._

I was done shoving that thought to the side, disciplining myself to move past it, or pretending it simply wasn't there. I still loved Bones. I had never gotten over her. I was still _in _love with Bones. Even though she didn't love me back.

When it was dark outside the windows I dragged myself to the shower to wash the crap off my face. I needed to pull myself together before Hannah got home. For a guy I may be in touch with my sensitive side, but I still hate crying in front of people.

As the water beat against my shoulders I got used to the sound of the words: _I'm in love with Bones. _In a way nothing had changed since last spring; I loved Bones, she didn't love me back. I had a different approach, this time, though. I wasn't going to try and "get over" her. I was simply going to accept the fact that anyone else would be second best, but good nonetheless.

Because I did still love Hannah. I wasn't _in _love with Hannah, but she would take care of me in thirty or forty years.

I heard the front door open while I was still in the shower. I quickly turned the water off and struggled into a pair of sweats.

Hannah found me in the bathroom, back against the wall, breathing shallow.

"What were you thinking?" she said. She grabbed a towel and started drying me off. "Why didn't you just wait for me?"

"I thought the warm water might help," I said. True enough.

"Let me get you a shirt and socks," she said and disappeared. She reappeared with a long-sleeved FBI shirt and a pair of fleece socks I only pulled out when we lost power. I griped as little as possible while we wrestled me into the shirt. Then she gave me two pills and a glass of water.

"I think we should just move you to the bed," Hannah said.

"Yeah, sure," I said. She wrapped an arm around my waist and we hobbled across the hall to the bedroom.

"Eggs for dinner?" she asked. I managed to get horizontal. Hannah yanked the blankets out from under me and then draped them on top.

"Eggs sound great," I said.

I was asleep before she got back.

I didn't tell Hannah about what happened with Bones until the following afternoon, when she came home from early from the office. She had set me up on the couch, again, with explicit instructions this time to not try and get up without her. She had even parked a cooler with beer and a sandwich next to the couch. I had slept most of the day, choosing not to engage with reality. Now she was sitting on the armrest next to my feet, chin propped on her hand.

"You're sad," she said.

"Yeah," I said.

"Are you going to tell me why?"

I sighed and rolled a little on the couch cushions. I did her the courtesy of turning off the game on the television.

"Yeah," I said. I paused for a minute. She waited. "Bones got really mad at me for telling everyone about the child pornography thing," I said. More or less true.

"That makes sense," Hannah said, "she's an excessively private person. But it wasn't your fault that everyone found out. The whole team was working on the case."

"Yeah, I guess," I said. "But she said I lied to her, too, and some other stuff."

Hannah absently wiggled one of my feet. I remembered my night in Boston with Bones, her strange behavior over the scene I found in her apartment and the cut on her foot. There was a spark in the back of my mind, but it didn't lead to anything. Just another puzzle piece of whatever had gone wrong over the past two weeks.

"I'm guessing you tried calling her," Hannah said.

"Of course," I answered. Almost true. I hadn't called her since her little scene at the lab, since I didn't know what to say. But surely my other phone messages spoke for themselves?

Hannah sighed and stood up from the couch. "Well I made you an appointment with a chiropractor for the day after tomorrow," she said. "So you'll be back on your white steed in less than forty-eight hours."

"Good," I said.

"Agreed," she said, "I suck at this nurse thing and you were right, you're a crappy patient."

I chuckled. At least I wouldn't die alone. Now I just had to figure out what to say to Bones. I figured another twenty-four hours apart would probably help us both collect our thoughts.

I never would have guessed how completely, entirely, bass-ackwards wrong I was.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Surprise! Two Booth POVs in a row. And that isn't the only surprise...**

* * *

Booth's POV

There was a _snap _and the tension uncoiled from my back. One minute the pain was there, and the next there was just… relief.

"Everything's resolved."

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked.

"Looks like everything's resolved," the chiropractor said.

"Oh, thanks," I said.

I emerged onto a street that glittered in the white morning. It was one of those winter days when you need sunglasses. I slipped them on and opened the door of my SUV.

My phone rang before I started the ignition.

"Booth."

_"Agent Booth you need to meet me at the Hoover in ten minutes."_

Caroline Julian.

"Hey, how do you know I'm not flat on my back right now with a herniated L – number – whatever –"

_"Yeah, you wish you were 'cause then you'd have an alibi."_

Now she had my attention.

"What is this about, Caroline?" I said.

_"Ten minutes, Agent Booth."_

I was dashing to the Hoover elevator when I saw Cam.

"Cam, what are you doing here?" I asked.

"Call from Caroline. What are _you _doing on your feet?"

"I came from the chiropractor," I said.

"In that case Caroline didn't tell me anything," Cam said.

The elevator chimed and we rode together in silence for several moments. Then Cam asked, "Have you talked to Dr. Brennan?"  
"No," I said. A beat. "You?"

"She's just been sending texts to call in sick," she sighed.

The doors opened and we strode forward to the conference room Caroline had chosen. I almost slammed into Sweets walking through the door.

"Sweets? You, too?" I said.

He wouldn't make eye contact. "Uh, yeah," he said.

I grabbed him by the shoulder. "You know what's going on, don't you?" I demanded.

"Woah – who knows what's going on?" Angela said.

I turned to see her and Hodgins, too, one of his arms slung around her waist.

"Did we all get called?" Hodgins asked.

Ms. Julian appeared at the doorway.

"Looks like everybody's here," she said. "What are we waiting for?"

Sweets darted out of my grasp in the press forward. I followed everyone inside but didn't take a seat. A.D. Hacker was sitting at the head of the table – he gave a glum sort of wave, which I didn't return.

"Wait – _is_ this everybody?" Cam asked, pulling out a chair. "Judging by who's assembled, shouldn't Dr. Brennan be joining us?"

Caroline sighed and her face softened to something I could almost call pity. "I did call Dr. Brennan. Unfortunately her absence only seems to confirm what I suspected."

Agent Perota chose that moment to waltz through the door. She held up a DVD in a clear jewel case. Ms. Julian just nodded at the empty seat to her left, which Perota took.

"Hey, do you mind telling us what this is about?" I said sarcastically.

Caroline shot me a look from under her brows. "Why don't you take a seat, Agent Booth?" she suggested.

I grabbed the back of an empty chair and drummed my fingers along the rim.

She rolled her eyes and set down the file folder she was carrying.

"At seven-thirty a.m. this morning the McKinley Psychiatric Hospital staff contacted Dr. Sweets to inform him that one of his patients in the secure unit had escaped the facility."

"Oh, no, Zack," Angela whispered.

Caroline shot Angela an unreadable look. "The patient, Dr. Zachariah Addy, was taken from the facility at approximately 12:05 a.m., right in the middle of a shift change, by an unknown individual. That individual had a valid RFID tag and very convincing documents from the office of the Assistant Director of the FBI. Those documents established that Dr. Addy needed to be removed immediately from the facility as a matter of –"

"Hang on," I interrupted. "The FBI has more than one A.D. _Whose _office did the documents come from?"

"Mine, Booth," Hacker said – unhappily I might add. "That's why I'm sitting here."

"Looks like you've got some security problems," I said.

"Don't blame A.D. Hacker," Sweets chimed in. "The RFID tag was stolen from me."

I shifted, considering. It wouldn't be the first time Zack had stolen Sweets' ID card.

"Can we continue, Ms. Julian?" Hacker said, ignoring our conversation.

"After the shift change the staff tried to contact the FBI offices to confirm the authenticity of the request. Since apparently it was the middle of the night, it took a long time for them to get a hold of the appropriate people." She shot Hacker a dirty look. "This individual was caught on camera. Agent Perota?"

Agent Perota stood up and inserted the DVD into the conference room's built-in player. A moment later grainy gray footage appeared on the oversized screen behind Caroline. A woman in a black knit cap with short curly hair was conversing with a guard behind a plate of glass. She was partially in profile and wearing a pair of thick glasses. I heard Caroline mumble something about the Marx brothers. The unknown woman shifted slightly, giving the camera a better view, and Perota paused the DVD.

"No," Cam murmured.

"Yes," Caroline said, "if you're thinking what I'm thinking."

"Is that – do you think that woman is Dr. Brennan?" Cam asked.

My eyes darted back to the footage. It was chunky with pixels and between the glasses and the hat and the hair…

"No," I said. "Not possible. How could she even – she doesn't know…" Caroline was staring at me with eyes like my puppy had just died. "She's a terrible liar!" I finally yelled.

"Dr. Brennan is the most likely candidate," Hacker said. "Yesterday she stopped by my office to ask about using FBI techs on the case she was working with Agent Perota." My heart skipped a beat at the thought of her walking the FBI halls without me. If only I had been at the Hoover yesterday I would've seen her. "She 'accidentally' spilled coffee on my shirt," Hacker used air-quotes here, "and I left her alone for a few minutes while I went to the bathroom to clean myself up. She had plenty of time to find what she needed, especially given her familiarity with the justice department and the FBI."

"Yeah, well what about the RFID card?" I pointed out. "Zack's stolen those before. He probably – probably got someone to –"

"Who, Agent Booth?" Sweets asked. "Even if Zack was the one to steal my RFID, who do you think he would have contacted for help?" Bones, of course. They always had that weird connection going on. "And," Sweets continued, "Max Brennan purposefully bumped into me at the FBI a few days ago. He said he was looking for you."

"What, so now Max is involved?" I scoffed. I was trying to sound skeptical, but judging by the looks on everyone's faces, I wasn't fooling anyone. My heart was galloping. "All you've got is a grainy photo and a bunch of coincidences," I said angrily.

"A cop knows there's no such things as coincidences," Cam said. "You know that, Booth."

"Right now the people in this room are the only ones who know about Dr. Addy's escape," Caroline said, "so I'm giving you an opportunity. If _any _of you know _anything _about the whereabouts of Dr. Addy or Dr. Brennan, speak now and we'll overlook any other… transgressions."

She made eye contact individually with everyone around the table, but no one said anything.

"I can't believe it," Angela murmured.

"You've all noted Dr. Brennan's erratic behavior recently," Sweets piped up.

"Are you calling her crazy?" Angela snapped.

"No," Dr. Sweets said, shaking his head, "I'm sure that Dr. Brennan has a very clear, rational motive for helping Zack escape. Like I said at her father's trial, Dr. Brennan is capable of rationalizing almost anything."

Then Sweets' face lit up.

"That's totally it!" he said, smacking the table. "I bet you anything that Dr. Brennan realized she was treating her father and Zack – both murderers – inconsistently, and thus she felt _compelled _to reconcile the two. Plus after the über-stress of these last two cases she wants to assert control over her environment. What better way to assert control over her world than to overcome the law? It's a challenge worthy of her intellect, a way of rebelling against the father figure she sees in you, Agent Booth –"

"Oh, really?" I snapped.

Sweets ignored me. "…as well as a dangerous distraction from difficult emotions."

He leaned back in his chair like this decided the whole matter.

"I'm convinced," Cam said.

"What?" I yelled.

Then she whirled on me. "You heard me. And that father figure thing? You were the only person in this world she trusted, Booth. And judging by what she said in the lab two days ago, you took that and you betrayed her. I don't know what the hell you did, but I know you're the reason she ran away last time –"

"You want to know what horrible thing I did?" I said. "You want to know why she left?"

"Yes," Cam said, folding her arms.

"I told her _I loved her._"

The room fell silent.

"Oh my, God," Angela whispered, "that explains everything."

"What?" I demanded. "What does it explain?"

"You've been telling her for years that true love is unchanging and eternal," Angela said. "Then right after you tell her, you leave for Afghanistan and come back claiming to be in love with another woman? That's what she meant when she said you proved –"

"Hey, I'm not the bad guy, here," I said, jabbing a finger at her. "She pushed _me_ away. She said she could never change."

"I told you," Cam muttered, "I told you, you better be damn sure of your feelings because if you changed your mind she'd die of loneliness before she'd trust anyone ever again."

"What the hell! I _was_ sure!" I yelled.

"So you just expected her to change her entire life outlook in a day?" Angela asked.

"Dr. Brennan has only been able to rationalize her abandonment as a child by convincing herself there's no such thing as love," Sweets said. "Challenging that defense mechanism –"

"I don't want to hear it from you, Sweets," I growled. "This is _your _fault. You're the one that told me to break the stalemate."

He cowered into his chair. "Perhaps not my best advice," he murmured.

Suddenly Angela was next to me, a hand on my arm. "It takes her time to process these things, Booth," she said. "So go – find her!"

"How?" I said.

"We'll do it. Now go!"

I didn't need to be told again. As I ran out the door I heard Hacker: "My God, are you people always like this?"


	33. Chapter 33

Brennan's POV

Zack was sitting on a chair in the motel bathroom while I shaved his head with an electric razor.

"You know you've been very calm," I said.

"I assume you have a plan," he said.

"True," I said, smirking. "It turns out Joy is far more cunning than Temperance."

"That doesn't make sense," he stated. Then, "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes," I said, "you'll look significantly less like a mental patient once your shaggy hair is gone."

Dad appeared at the doorway and looked at the hair on the floor. "Jeez! It looks like we killed a cat."

"You should probably clean up the clippings, Dad," I said. "Hair typing could link Zack to this room."

"All this?" he said, gesturing at the floor. "The flight would be gone before I finished cleaning."

"Yes, well, you won't be joining us at the airport, so that won't be a problem," I said irritably, turning off the razor. Dad had tried several times to get me to reveal the destination of our flight. The tickets were currently wedged between my bra and my skin – and if they weren't I had no doubt my father would have pick-pocketed them by now.

I realized Dad was holding a garment bag in his hand.

"Are those Zack's clothes?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said.

I took the garment bag and held it out to Zack. "Will you need help changing?" I asked.

"No, my manual function will suffice," he said. I hung the garment bag on the towel rack and then exited the bathroom.

Dad was sitting on the bed.

"You know you can lose the wig," he said.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was still wearing the short, wavy wig from my time at McKinley.

"Maybe I should cut my hair like this," I said, examining the angles.

"It's very Joy, but I don't know if it's Temperance," my dad sighed.

I grinned at his reflection behind me. "Exactly. You know I found the experience of liberating Zack from McKinley quite thrilling," I said.

"Liberating him?" Dad said. "You make him sound like Nelson Mandela."

"Maybe when I come back to the United States we should start a gang," I said. "I've actually been plotting the perfect murder for several years now."

"You and your octogenarian book fans," he muttered. "Hey, honey, why don't you check your phone messages one last time?"

I turned around and saw he was holding out my cell phone.

"Dad!" I hissed. "Are you crazy? The FBI can track cell phones."

He shrugged. "Eh, it's turned off."

"Why did you bring it?" I demanded. "I purposefully left it behind."

"Just humor me, honey, okay?"

The phone seemed to loom larger than life before me. I knew there were at least a dozen messages I hadn't listened to, and because I had been unable to resist checking, I knew that not a single one was from Booth.

_So then what are you afraid of? _

I grabbed the phone from his hand and turned it on defiantly. What would it matter to me, anyway? I was Joy, now, Temperance no more.

Then the phone rang in my hand.

"Shit!" I yelped, dropping as if burned.

"What?" Dad demanded, scooping the phone up off the carpet. "Oh, hey, it's Booth."

I snatched the phone back and pressed _Send to Voicemail._

Zack emerged from the bathroom. "I look like one of my college professors," he said. He was wearing pressed khakis, a fair-isle sweater, and a corduroy blazer.

"Hey," Dad said, "I'll have you know those clothes were very stylish in my – their – time."

"Exactly," Zack said.

"You'll want to lose the sweater once we land in Zz –"

Too late I realized I had started to reveal our location.

"It starts with a Z?" Dad asked. "Well that narrows it down. Somewhere without an extradition treaty that starts with a Z. That's also too hot for a sweater this time of year."

"Why do you want to know so badly?" I huffed. "You'll regret knowing the day Booth comes to interview you."

"Oh, yeah? You think Booth'll be in charge of the investigation?" he asked with a smile. "Wouldn't he be a little too close?"

"Well, yes," I said, pretending to check my reflection in the mirror. "But I expect he'll feel compelled to look for me anyway. He has something Sweets calls a white-knight complex."

I felt that familiar ache below my sternum again. I ignored it.

"Smart kid, that Sweets," Dad said. "Except for what he said about me at my trial."

"And me," I said.

"Oh, no," Dad laughed. "He got you on the nose."

"I realize I'm experiencing anxiety," Zack interrupted, "and I think it's because my biological instincts are urging me to flee. When does our flight leave?"

Suddenly my phone buzzed in my hand again. I looked at the screen. _You have a new voicemail._

"Uh, we should leave the motel in fifteen minutes," I said.

"Why don't you check it… Joy?" Dad said.

I debated, then decided Booth might unintentionally reveal details of any manhunt for Zack in his recording. I dialed my voice-mailbox.

"Come on, Zack," Dad said. "Help me clean up your hair." They both disappeared into the bathroom.

Then the recording started.

_"Bones, it's Booth."_

There was a sharp little pain at the sound of his voice but I kept my breathing even.

_"Listen, I don't want to do this over the phone but I don't know if I'm going to get another chance…" _He sounded out of breath. _"Another chance to tell you that – that I get it. I finally know what you were talking about …"_

There was a pause and I thought I heard him cursing at a driver.

_"So first, the thing about spreading your private stories around to Sweets and whoever. Let's see. Uh, you know my dad was an alcoholic but you don't know he beat my mom sometimes. I tried to stop him once and he gave me a black eye. He made me tell everyone I got it playing baseball with Jared. And when Pops finally got me out of there I still wet the bed sometimes. Nobody knows that, not even Jared."_

He took another deep breath. My eyes were stinging and I had to take another deep breath myself to keep the tears at bay.

"_You know how my feet were beaten. That's when I was in Somalia. They had me for a week, Bones, and I still get nightmares sometimes. You know, I used to like it – hurting people. But after Somalia – never again. When I got back from that one is when the gambling started, too. You know I stole from Rebecca, once, when I ran out. It was right after we first met, and she still doesn't know. I don't know what she thinks._

"_What I'm trying to say Bones is – is _I'm _the one in distress. I'm the one that needs you. Because you're the strongest person I know."_

I felt a tear trickle out of my eye and wiped it away angrily.

"_And about what you said about how I lied to you, proved there was no such thing as love –" _

The phone beeped and cut him off. He must have run out of time.

I threw the phone on the bed and pressed my fists against my eyes. _I love you, Booth,_ I thought. I let one silent sob wrack my chest, and then I wiped my eyes, smoothed my shirt, and pulled the wig from my head.

It was time to get out of here – out of this room, out of the country.

_BAM. BAM. BAM._

Someone was knocking on the door.

"Uh, Max?" I called. He was already rushing out of the bathroom, to the peephole.

"Oh, no, it's okay, honey," he said, and then opened the door. "Took you long enough," he said to whoever was on the other side.

Then Booth shouldered past him.

I stuttered backwards several steps and banged against the bed.

I heard Zack walk out of the bathroom and say, "Oh." Then, "Time to go back to the loony bin?"

I kept my eyes on Booth's gun, anywhere but his face, but said icily to my father, "I'm never speaking to you again."

"Hey!" he said. "I didn't do anything."

Booth snorted. "Yeah, except pay for this motel room with your credit card."

"Yeah, but it's not like I phoned or something," Dad said. "Tempe, I can't help it if I'm a crappy criminal." Then he smiled.

"I _hate _you," I hissed. Then to Zack, "I doubt Max will fight me, Zack. You and I can overpower Booth and still escape."

"Ha – you and Zack?" Booth laughed.

"Don't bother," Max said. "They're going somewhere warm that starts with a Z."

"Zack was Gormogon's apprentice, Booth," I said. "And deceptively strong." Finally I made eye-contact with Booth. He looked – sad.

Then Zack blurted, "I've never actually killed anyone."

"What?" Booth and I exclaimed simultaneously.

I didn't dare look back at Zack but I heard the anxiety in his voice. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan, but I'm not sure I could hurt Agent Booth. Dr. Sweets says my ability to physically hurt myself has no relation to my ability to physically hurt others."

"But Zack, you confessed –"

"I just told the Master where to find them," Zack interrupted me.

I couldn't help myself – I looked back at him. "Zack, why did you confess to murder?"

"I told the Master where he was," Zack said. "The results were equivalent!"

"Not in the eye of the law," Booth said.

"You shut up!" I snapped, and spread my legs into a fighting stance.

Booth held up his hands. "I just want to talk to you, Bones. Look," he took out his badge and threw it on the dresser, "I'm not even here in a formal capacity. Just – give me a chance to prove something."

"Prove what?" I demanded. "That you're a pigheaded, arrogant, thoughtless liar?"

Booth's eyes got a little anxious. "Bones, I'm here to prove to you that love exists."

"Impossible," I said. "You've already disproved that fact."

"Then I want to disprove your disproof," he said. "Just – let me at least make sure I understand, okay?"

He was standing in front of the door. I didn't see an easy opening of attack – he had the better ground.

He took my silence as an invitation to speak.

"Last spring I told you I was going to be in love with you for the next thirty or forty years," he said.

My breath hitched and my eyes burned. _I will not cry._

"That's what you think I lied about, right?"

"You _did _lie," I cried. "You're in love with Hannah. You told me yourself two weeks ago."

"Okay, okay," he said, holding up his hands. "We're on the same page."

I rolled my eyes, aware of the tears barely at bay. "Why do we need to talk about this, Booth?" I begged.

He plowed onward as if he didn't hear me. "So it's been a while since high school science, but I'm the experiment, right? I'm the thing that proves whether or not love exists."

"That's not –" Zack started.

"Fine, sure," I said, cutting Zack off. Anything to make it stop.

"Okay," Booth continued. "So it's a matter of watching me over time. If love exists, I'll still love you in a year, or thirty, or forty. If not, I start dating Hannah."

"Sounds about right," I said, voice hoarse.

"Well you're forgetting the most important part of an experiment, Bones," he said, smiling just a little. "Other variables. Alternate explanations." He paused, as if this was a revelation.

"Congratulations, you watch Bunsen Jude the Science Dude," I said. "You know the meaning of an alternative hypothesis."

"Alternative hypothesis, _exactly,_" he said. He took a step forward. "How's this for an alternate explanation for my behavior, Bones. When you told me you couldn't change, I believed you. I believed you completely, because I respected you and because a month later you told me you wanted to leave not just me, but the United States of America."

"I was – it was a once in a lifetime opportunity," I said, voice uneven.

"Yeah, well it felt like a major rejection, Bones. It broke my heart." His voice cracked a little on the last word and that just made me ache more. A few tears slipped past my eyelashes.

"Assumption number one, I need someone to love, and someone to love me back," he continued. "Assumption number two, Bones doesn't love me." He took another step forward but there was nowhere for me to go – the wall was at my back. I pressed my hand against the plaster, seeking something solid to hold onto. "Assumption number three, Bones can't change." He took a deep, quavering breath. "That's what guided my behavior, Bones. Even you told me to move on. It seemed like the only option."

"Yes, your behavior was completely rational," I whispered. I could barely find my voice. I closed my eyes and listened to the rushing in my ears like the sound of the sea.

"But these past two weeks," he said, "when I've thought I was going to lose you for good… all those assumptions were gone. Because I realized none of that mattered more than _my _first principle, my true north."

My hands were trembling. I pressed myself harder against the wall.

"I can't live without you, Bones."

I started sobbing. I couldn't help it.

"And when I thought about that, Bones, I realized I was still in love with you. And that's my alternate hypothesis."

I shrank down against the wall and wrapped my hands over my head. My chest was burning and I was shaking and everything was roaring.

"Bones – hey, Bones – don't freak out on me."

Suddenly I felt him in front of me, his warmth, his hands soft on my hair, his voice close.

"You can't take back what you said," I choked, barely intelligible. "You said you love Hannah. No changies, no take-backs."

"Yeah, well, I love Parker, too, but not like I love you," he murmured. "Weren't you the one that taught me most ancient languages have more than one word for love? Consider my English insufficient."

"Your argument is… incoherent," I managed to say through inexplicably chattering teeth.

He gave a soft laugh. "Yeah, well you're the one that said only crazy people do the same thing over again and expect different results. So call me crazy."

I was rocking slightly, arms tight to my chest, eyes closed…

"Okay, you're starting to really freak me out, Bones," he said. "Can you – can you just open your eyes for me?"

I couldn't disobey that soft tenor. My eyes were so blurry I could barely see his face, but I could see he was smiling, however nervously.

"Hey, there are those baby blues," he whispered.

It felt like my chest was painfully expanding – or contracting. I couldn't tell. All I could tell was something was pressing and squeezing all at once and I _had _to speak, I _had _to say –

"I can change, Booth."

I felt my whole body calm, tremors abating to a quiver.

And then I kissed him.

Amazingly he was ready for me. His lips were soft and insistent, just like that night seven years ago. His arms banded around me and lifted me to my feet. My fingers found the stubbled line of his cheekbones and swept into his hair. Our teeth knocked and I deepened the kiss, trying to drown deeper in his kisses that were stronger than tequila and sweeter than pie.

Then his lips left mine and he was kissing my cheeks, thumbs smoothing back the hair at my temples.

"Never again, Temperance," he was murmuring, "I'll never hurt you again."


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: And now a look from the outside...**

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Hacker's POV

They sat across from me, one in each armchair that faced my desk. Temperance had her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap. Agent Booth had his left ankle propped on his right knee and was jiggling his foot like a third-grader waiting for recess. Amazingly they both looked completely calm.

I kept my hands folded on my desk and a stern look on my face.

"You know, Bones can do this silent thing for hours," Booth said. "Doesn't bother her a bit."

"True, it doesn't," Temperance said, nodding. "I simply spend the time contemplating more pressing intellectual problems. Though you don't like silence very much, Booth."

"Yeah. At least Sweets has a slinky."

They smiled at each other.

"Enough with the cute," Ms. Julian said from her post behind me. "This is a serious matter, people. Assistant Director Hacker was simply giving you time to contemplate the severity of your situation."

"Right," I said.

They turned their attention back to us, though they couldn't quite wipe the smiles off their faces.

"Agent Perota and Dr. Sweets are escorting Dr. Addy back to the McKinley Psychiatric Facility as we speak," I said sternly. "Ms. Julian and I have decided not to formally charge you, given my office's unintentional involvement in the matter," I cleared my throat nervously, "but that does not preclude professional sanctions."

"Actually, I'm merely a consultant to the FBI," Temperance said. "According to the bureaucratic regulations you so strictly adhere to the only professional sanction available to you is to terminate the FBI contract with the Jeffersonian. Which you are unlikely to do considering the Jeffersonian's contribution to your solve rate."

I felt a twinge of annoyance. The woman had made a fool of me, and she was unflappable.

"Yeah, well maybe we'll just punish Agent Booth, instead," Ms. Julian said.

Temperance's cheeks flushed. "Caroline, that is unfair and – and – _vindictive_ –"

"Hey," Booth cut her off, "it's okay, Bones."

"No, it's not okay, Booth! This is not a matter of chivalry," Temperance begged.

Booth placed a hand on her thigh. "Hey, I've gotta take my chances when I see them," he grinned.

"Oh, God, fine," I said, "I can't take the schmaltz. Just – consider yourself verbally reprimanded, Booth."

"Yes, sir," he said, instantly serious. But then he shot Temperance a grin.

"Actually, I have a request, Andrew," Temperance said. She turned the full power of her baby blues on me and I was putty. "I understand as Agent Booth's supervisor you have the power to grant him permission to see an FBI consultant socially. I'd like you to grant him that permission. To see me. Socially."

So matter of fact.

It was a little mortifying. In fact, for a moment, I really considered turning down her request. It would serve her right for turning me into a patsy.

Then Caroline sighed. "Oh, come on, Andrew. Saying no would just make you look _little._"

"Fine," I grumbled. "Permission granted, Agent Booth."

He gave me a megawatt smile, the asshole.

"But Temperance, if I ever see you in my office again –"

"Understood," she interrupted me.

"Then you're both dismissed," I said, waving them off. I grabbed my coffee and buried my nose in a file of paperwork so I wouldn't have watch them kissing as soon as they left my office.

"You know," Caroline said, "you're the chivalrous one in this situation, A.D. Hacker." I pretended I didn't hear her. As she walked out she said, "You ever end up on the wrong side of the law, you give me a call." And then she closed the door behind her.

Angela's POV

"We're going to take you somewhere nice, okay?" I said. I had one arm clutched around Zack's shoulder. My free hand was knotted with Hodgins'. All three of us were squeezed into the back seat of Perota's SUV. "As soon as possible Sweets is going to talk to a judge and we're all going to pay for you to stay at some swanky private asylum with gardens and horseback riding."

"Angela, you shouldn't promise him something like that," Sweets sighed, turning around from the passenger seat.

"Why not?" I snapped. "You heard Dr. Brennan and Booth. Zack never killed anyone. That changes _everything._"

Sweets _tssked_ his tongue like a teenage girl. "It's not that simple, Angela."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it is," I said.

"I could always just bribe a judge," Hodgins said. I grinned and he kissed my cheek.

"Sure, just pretend there's not a federal agent in the car," Perota sighed.

"All I'd like is a larger library," Zack said. "Although admit I enjoy horseback riding. My family in Michigan used to go horseback riding."

"We'll go horseback riding together, man," Hodgins said.

I tugged on his hand linked with mine and laid it over my belly.

_Everything will be perfect, baby._

Clark's POV

Dr. Brennan wasn't in her office and there was no one on the forensic platform.

"Hello?" I called. Then to myself, "It isn't the weekend yet, is it?"

"Clark!" I turned around and saw Dr. Saroyan emerge from her office. "Back from Chicago already?" She saw the duffel bag thrown over my shoulder. "And straight from the airport, no less."

"I thought Dr. Brennan would want to know the resolution of the Holiday case," I said solemnly. I dropped the weight of my duffel onto the platform.

"Ah, yes," Dr. Saroyan said, face falling a little. "I think we were all eager for that one to be solved."

"It was the sex offender, Harold Wilson," I announced. "He smothered Megan during one of their… sessions. He wanted her to stop crying."

Dr. Saroyan closed her eyes and paused for a moment. Then she said, "All that from the bones? I'm impressed, Clark."

I smiled sardonically. "It wasn't me, Dr. Saroyan. The wife, Maureen Falco, had a video of the murder. Her husband Eddie told her to destroy the film after they buried the body but she held onto it as leverage – in case they were ever caught."

"She exchanged it for a lesser charge," Dr. Saroyan murmured. She smiled at me. "Thank you, Clark."

"Why?" I said. "If Dr. Brennan had worked the case I'm sure she would have seen something I missed, something that made Maureen's deal unnecessary."

"No, Dr. Edison," Cam said. "I assure you, you are the only one among us that had the strength to work that case."


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: For those who noticed I decided to change the synopsis in honor of how far we've come. Still a few more chapters to go!**

* * *

Booth's POV

"Finally alone," Bones groaned, pressing the button for the parking garage.

As soon as the elevator doors closed she was on me.

I stumbled and my back slammed against the wall.

"Ow," I protested but her mouth silenced me, urgent and fiercer with every kiss. I thought back to the three times in my life I had kissed Temperance Brennan before today:

Outside a bar in the rain. Sweetness with a dash of tequila and tongue.

_Hmm. Speaking of tongue._

Underneath the mistletoe in front of Ms. Julian. Restrained as a pilgrim, with the barely repressed lust to match.

Outside the Hoover. Hard heaven with a hell chaser.

None of them had provided my imagination with the type of material Bones was giving me now. Her lips were soft and mobile with those hot little breaths in between. She slung a leg around my hip and I grabbed it automatically, hand cupping her ass. She groaned into my mouth. I grabbed the back of her neck and took control of the kiss, deep and long –

The doors chimed and she was off me in a second, smoothing her hair and looking in her purse like I wasn't even there. I positioned myself behind her as several junior agents entered the car. The smell of her hair was heady. I leaned in a took a slow breath, savoring the scent. She snaked her hand between us and ran it up my crotch –

I jumped and started coughing quickly. I had her wrist in a vice grip but her fingers wiggled, barely brushing my abdomen, tickling. I was already throbbing, pressing against my jeans, and didn't need her making this any harder for me.

"Bones!" I hissed. One agent gave me the eyebrow but turned around when I gave him a glare.

Finally the doors chimed again and the agents unloaded on the first floor. The doors closed, leaving us alone for the ride to the parking garage. Before I could scold her she was on me again. My heart thundered in my ears and my whole body pulsed.

The doors chimed, opening onto the parking garage.

She ran out, dragging me by the hand, laughing. I found the keys in my pocket without taking my eyes from her face. A few feet away the SUV chirped and she pulled me against its side. I place my hands on either side of her face and kissed her more gently, brief tugs as we each caught our breath. I could feel every seam in my clothes rubbing against me – I was lit up like a Christmas tree, high on Bones. Then her hand slipped between us a pressed –

"Woah, Bones," I said, leaning away from her touch.

"What?" she said, out of breath. "No one can see us; your prudishness should be satisfied."

I grabbed her hand before she tried anything else. "My prudishness isn't the problem, Bones. I just don't think we should… not before…"

"You want to break up with Hannah first," she said.

"Yeah," I said.

The sound of our breathing was loud and close.

"Alright," she said. "In fact, perhaps we should allow time for an adjustment period. A week, perhaps?"

"Uh, okay," I said. She was totally calm. Rational.

"What?" she said, taking in my expression.

"Well – it's just – I never thought you'd be the one to suggest we put off sex," I admitted.

"Have I threatened your masculinity?" she asked. "Because I assure you, I merely suggested we postpone sex to satisfy your conscience."

I laughed. "Jeez, Bones, thanks."

She smirked. "Well, my tacit offer for the backseat stands –"

I grabbed her other hand before she got frisky.

"No, no, it's a good idea, Bones."

"Agreed," she said, then took back both her hands and opened the passenger door. "Besides, I should still be angry at you. Perhaps if I'm not distracted by your sexual advances I'll be able to recapture that feeling."

She slammed the door. I stood there for a second, dumbfounded by her yet again, then went around to the driver's side.

As I put the key in the ignition Bones asked, "How do you intend to deal with the fact that Hannah currently shares your residence?"

I sighed. "Yeah, I've thought about that. The only right thing to do is move out and stay in a hotel or something until she can find her own place."

"Don't be ridiculous, you should stay with me," she said.

I just looked at her.

"Unless you think you'll be unable to control your sexual urges living in close proximity to me," she said.

"Hey, you make it sound like I'm a crazed sex addict or something," I objected.

"Then you agree that the most rational solution is for you to come stay with me," she said, buckling her seatbelt.

"Is that a dare, Bones?" I laughed.

She leaned close. "I don't know, are you a turkey, Booth?"

"Chicken, Bones," I said, but I was looking at her lips when I said it. "And I'm not a chicken."

She leaned back out of my reach. "That's settled then."

I hoped I knew what I had just gotten myself into.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: So last night's episode was kind of lame. But the way I see it, Hannah doesn't deserve the vitriol - it's all Booth. In fact, I think Hannah deserves her own chapter.**

* * *

Hannah's POV

I sat at the kitchen table, hands folded on top of a manila folder. I waited for Seeley to come home.

I knew what I was going to see on his face when he walked through that door: heartbreak. There would be guilt, too, either way. Seeley was a good man, a responsible man, and he would feel responsible for whatever happened.

Last night I had stayed awake, watching him as he slept. Maybe if we had made love I would have known if he would come back to me. But his back was hurting, and his heart, and it would've been taking advantage.

So I watched him instead, contemplating the radical changes I had made for this man. I had left my wild pursuits, settled down in a nine-to-five job, and suddenly, breathlessly, believed in fairytales. Before I would never have contemplated dating a man with children. Before I would have laughed at the idea of ironing my clothes and cooking in anything more than a kitchenette. And this man, _this man_, was worth it. When I fell into his arms I was twice as strong, and yet he didn't hold me there, he let me fly.

I heard his key in the lock and my heart leapt into my throat. The door opened. It took a moment for his footfalls to lead him around the corner, to where I sat.

_Come hold me, _I thought, _if you come hold me, everything will be okay._

He came around the door. His face was cast in sadness, like I knew it would be.

But he didn't come hold me. He stayed in the doorway, broad shoulders slumped.

My throat tightened and tears threatened.

"You stopped her, didn't you," I said.

"How did you – how did you know?" he asked, bewildered.

I rested my hands on top of the manila folder in front of me. "Dr. Brennan told me," I said.

"What do you mean?" he said.

"I knew where she was going," I said. "She came to my office yesterday and gave me this."

He strode to the kitchen table and opened the manila folder. Inside he would find the medical file of Thomas Kavhutema, a few newspaper clippings, and the research I had already completed on the Hemofree blood substitute trials in Zimbabwe.

"I don't – what is this?" he asked.

"It's the case Dr. Brennan was working on," I answered. My voice was incredibly calm, collected. Just like I was on camera, reporting the death of another soldier in Afghanistan. "She told me she was going to investigate the Hemofree trials in Zimbabwe. She doubted she would be able to solve the case in any official way, so she was trusting me to write the exposé."

"Zimbabwe," he hissed. Then, "You knew? You knew she was leaving?"

His anger made it easier for me. "She swore me to secrecy, Seeley," I said firmly. "It would have violated my code of ethics as a journalist to tell you."

"Yeah, what about the ethics of living with someone?" he said. "You _know _it would kill me if she just left like that."

I folded my arms and leaned back in my chair. "If you want a reason to kick me out, just ask me, Seeley," I said.

He sighed and let the folder slide from his hands to the table. That confirmed it. For a moment it felt like the floor collapsed beneath me. I felt the pressure of tears behind my eyes.

"Never mind, you don't need a reason," I said, voice shaking. "I'm flying to Zimbabwe tomorrow."

"What?" he snapped. "No. Absolutely not."

"Why not?" I challenged, sticking out my chin.

"Because Zimbabwe is basically a warzone," he said. "Hell – they only recently allowed journalists back in."

"You have no right to stop me, Seeley," I said.

"Hey – I would've stopped you whether we were together or not," he said. "It's too goddamn dangerous."

_Whether we were together or not._ This was real.

"And I would've gone anyway, Booth," I said angrily. "I'm not your woman to protect. I never was."

"If Bones went you would've stayed," he said.

I struggled for breath. I should've known he was never mine – he never gave me a nickname. The sound of my heart breaking was deafening in my mind, like the popping of guns in Kabul. "You're right. If Dr. Brennan was gone, I'd still be here. I guess you could only ever have one of us." I stood up. "I have to pack." I brushed past him, towards the bedroom.

"You really wouldn't have told me?" he asked softly.

I paused, swallowed back the tears. "What about all the things you haven't told me, lately, Seeley?"

It was the most graceful exit I could hope for.

_He was mine for a little while, _I thought. _But he couldn't hold me. I'm a nomad._

And then it was time to pack my bags again.


	37. Chapter 37

Brennan's POV

I knew as soon as Booth left to talk to Hannah that the proverbial honeymoon was over. Booth genuinely cared for Hannah, and he hated to see women in pain.

I felt a flutter of anxiety – what if he offered Hannah physical comfort in a moment of weakness?

I shoved the thought aside. Rationally speaking I had been his first choice. Besides, if I knew Hannah, she'd take my place in Zimbabwe. Like me, she was passionate about finding the truth and made a habit of flirting with danger. I decided my time would be most productively spent making an early dinner.

When I heard Booth jiggling the key in the lock I suddenly didn't know what to do with myself. Before I could decide where to stand Booth opened the door and slouched in. He was carrying the overnight bag he kept in his car for emergencies.

"Hello," I said.

He lifted his eyes to me, dropped the bag to the wood floor, and then strode forward. A moment later he wrapped both his arms around me and buried his face in my neck. The tension was flushed from my chest. I felt him take a deep breath, ribs shifting under my hands.

"You smell so good, Bones," he snuffled against my neck.

I laughed. "That tickles, Booth"

He pulled back and then cupped my face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs over my cheeks.

"Zimbabwe? Really?" he said, brow furrowed.

"Yes," I answered.

He sighed. "If I ask you to never, ever go to Zimbabwe would that piss you off?" he asked.

I smiled against his palms. "What about all the other dangerous countries, Booth? Do you want me to say no if they find another mass grave in Rwanda? Or El Salvador?"

"Yeah, I know," he said. He dropped his hands. "How about this. Next time there's a mass grave, at least consider sacrificing one of the squinterns first."

I laughed. "You know Dr. Edison –"

He silenced me with a kiss.

For a moment I felt like I was spinning, Booth above me and beside me and the floor swept from beneath me. Fortunately he was there to catch me with both arms.

Then he pulled back and examined me. "Was – is that okay?" he asked.

"What?" I asked breathlessly.

"You know – kissing you," he said.

I grinned. "I assure you, you are more than adept, Booth."

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean the quality, Bones, I meant… is it okay. With you."

I hadn't even thought to examine my feelings on the matter. In the interest of completely and honestly answering Booth's question, I paused and focused on the sensations. A warm, giddy feeling in my stomach. Relaxed shoulders. The novel experience of momentarily being without thought.

"Yes," I answered. "in fact your kisses seem to have the effect of soothing my emotional discomfort."

"Emotional discomfort?" he prompted, grinning a little.

"Yes, I…" I slipped from between his arms under the pretense of checking the oven. "For the past few weeks I've experienced an elevated stress level and other… emotional distress." I pulled the macaroni and cheese from the oven and set it on the counter.

Suddenly Booth was behind me, hands on the counter on either side of me.

"I know, Temperance," he said. I felt him lay his head against my back. "I'm sorry."

Then he leaned over my shoulder and gave a dramatic sniff.

"Is that mac and cheese?" he asked, lightening the tone.

"Excellent observation, Agent Booth," I said. I slipped away once again and carried the casserole dish to the table. "Although I don't want you to have any expectation that I will assume a traditional gender role as a consequence of our relationship, I found comfort in a physical demonstration of my desire to – take care of you," I said. I stuck a spoon in the cheesy noodles and smoothed the napkins I had set. "I know I'm not – I'm not Hannah or Rebecca, but I want you to know I'm going to try. I'm going to try and provide the emotional support you need." I realized the heat on my cheeks was a blush. "Although, admittedly, sometimes physical demonstrations such as mac and cheese will be the best I can do."

"Hey," he said, sitting down, "mac and cheese always goes a long way in my book, Bones. Plus, you have the magic fingers." I focused on dishing noodles onto his plate, still not looking at him. "But thank you, Bones." Then he titled my chin and kissed me again, swift and sweet. When I opened my eyes I saw his were glittering. "It's going to be a long time before I get tired of that," he said.

He leaned back and took a bite of his mac and cheese. "Oh, God," he said, still chewing. "Please, Bones, tell me you'll still make this for me in thirty or forty years."

His question was light, joking, but my answer was serious despite the banter: "I hope to, Booth."


	38. Chapter 38

Booth's POV

Where did we stand?

Or, more specifically, where were we going to sleep?

So I had professed my undying love to Bones. She said she could change and seemed to be hinting she wanted me to stay around, even though she hadn't made any proclamations herself. She was trying and I was taking her as she was.

But what was this _really_?

"Booth – I asked which side of the bed you usually sleep on."

She was loading the dishwasher, back to me.

I mean, there was always the chance she wanted to turn me into one of her fuck-buddies. Worse, after almost losing her I thought I might actually go along with the idea.

"Actually, uh, I think I'll just take the couch, Bones."

She stood up abruptly. "What? No. You only recently saw a chiropractor for a realignment, Booth."

"It's the gentlemanly thing to do, Bones," I said.

"You know how I feel about your antiquated notions of chivalry, Booth. I simply refuse to allow you to sleep on my couch. But if your prudishness would really make sleeping in the same bed as me so difficult that you're willing to cripple yourself, then you can have the bed and I'll sleep on the couch."

"No way, Bones! That's the _opposite _of chivalry."

"This isn't open to negotiation," she said, brushing past me. "I'm going to put my pajamas on now."

She slammed the door to the bathroom.

I sat down on the couch and started unbuttoning my shirt. What was she going to do, pry me off the cushions?

I was kicking off my trousers when I heard Bones emerge from the bathroom. I quickly sat down and whipped the blanket off the back of the couch.

"Get up, Booth," she said. "I want to arrange my blankets."

She came around the side of the couch, carrying a pillow and quilts.

Wearing nothing but an oversized Jeffersonian t-shirt.

"Woah." I snapped the blanket over my crotch. "Hey, there, Bones."

"Get off the couch, Booth."

"No," I said. Cue shit-eating grin.

"You aren't even going to brush your teeth?" she asked, brows raised.

"I'm going to do it," I said, "as soon as you fall asleep."

"Fine," she said, smirking. She dropped her pillow to the floor and started unfolding the blankets. "Then I'll sleep on the floor."

"Aw, come on, Bones, that's completely irrational," I pointed out.

"On the contrary, I surmise that the most effective way to get you off the couch is to put myself in an even more uncomfortable situation. I'm going to use your chivalry against you," she said.

"Nice try, Bones," I said, "but I'm more stubborn than you." I spun so my head was on the armrest.

"I doubt that," she chuckled, folding to the floor.

I shook open her couch throw. "Maybe you forget who you're up against here."

She shimmied down under her comforter. "Yes, I know you're an inveterate gambler. Oh, Booth, could you get the light?"

"Ha. That's clever, Bones."

She groaned and kicked off the covers. I watched her dart over to the switch, tee grazing the edge of her thighs, just a little higher…

She plunged the room into darkness. Her legs glowed milky white in the moonlight as she sprinted back to her nest on the floor.

"You know," she said, "I find myself reminded of Amanda Baker's sleepover party in the seventh grade."

I smiled to myself. "Goodnight, Bones."

"Goodnight, Seeley."

A few moments later she asked, "How's the back, Booth?"

"You're worse than Parker, Bones. Go to sleep."

I heard a muffled chuckle into her pillow.

The next sound I was conscious of was a sort of whimper. I woke up instantly, my ears tuned to such slight noises after many nights propped up with Parker or a rifle in my arms.

The apartment was silent. The fridge kicked on.

Then I heard it again.

It was Bones, breathing fast, voice pressing through her dream.

I rolled off the couch to my knees and shook her shoulder. "Bones – Bones!" Her head tossed. Her neck was exposed, glistening with sweat. "Temperance!" I tried.

She bolted upright, almost hitting me. Her breaths were deep, gasping.

"Bones," I murmured, "it's okay."

I could barely see her eyes glimmering in the night. She turned to look at me and then threw her arms around my neck. I bundled her up close, covers and all. She was quaking.

"Bones, Temperance, it's okay." I smoothed a hand over her mussed hair and she gripped me tighter, knuckles digging into my shoulders. For several minutes she clung to me, breaths hot and fast against my neck.

Finally she said, "You can't take it back, Booth. Don't ever take it back."

"What, Temperance?" I asked.

She pulled back to look at me, though her eyes were just pinpricks of light. "You said – in the motel you said you love me." Her voice was shaking along with her body. "You can't ever take it back, Booth! If you – if you took it back I don't think I could –"

"Hey, I'm not gonna take it back, Temperance," I interrupted. This was an easy fear to assuage. "I'm that guy. I'll _always_ love you."

"Good," she said. "Because I don't think I could do this – life – again without you. I don't think – I _do_ think –"

Her fists rested on my chest.

"What, Bones?" I prompted.

She looked down and bumped her fists against me, as if testing my solidity. "I think I'm in love with you, Booth." Then she lifted her eyes and I saw they were sparkling with tears.

"Oh, Bones." My heart was in my throat. _More than I ever hoped for. More than I deserve._

I swept a thumb under her eyes.

"Why are you crying, Bones?" I asked, smiling. "This is – love is a good thing."

"I know I once said I wanted to be able to lose myself in someone else, but I'm just – I'm overwhelmed by my emotions, Booth. I don't know how I'm even going to be able to think rationally amidst the – the joy, the panic, the anxiety…"

"Come on, Temperance," I said, sweeping my arm underneath her knees so I could hold her to my chest. "That's not just love. You need some sleep."

"Don't belittle me, Booth," she said, voice cracking.

I chuckled and pressed a kiss to her hair. "I'm not, Bones. After the past two weeks we both seriously need some sleep."

I stood up with a groan, hefting her weight with me.

"Booth!" she objected. "Your back!"

"Give it a rest, Bones, will ya? You won the argument – we're going to the bedroom."

She was heavy in my arms, but it was a good ache, like being full. She let her head fall against my shoulder and I could've lit up the city with my happiness.

I set her down on the bed and then pulled back the covers. She grabbed my hand and pulled me down. As we settled underneath the blankets I snaked an arm around her back and pulled her onto my chest.

"You're right, the bed is much more comfortable," she mumbled into my shoulder.

"So now I won the argument?" I whispered.

She wrapped her fist under her chin and snuggled closer.

I let out a deep breath – there barely seemed room in my chest what with the happiness and all. Then I closed my eyes and slept.


	39. Chapter 39

Brennan's POV

Waking up with a man in my bed was something I was fairly experienced with. Endorphins generally reach their maximum levels between eight and ten a.m., making morning sex an especially pleasurable experience. But this was the first time I had woken up with a man fully-clothed.

My head rested on his chest, hand splayed a few inches from my nose. I felt a deep satisfaction from my scalp to my toes. When I opened my sleep-heavy eyes winter sunshine was dancing on the sheets. I stretched my legs against Booth's, muscles tensing and releasing like a sigh. I felt more than heard the sound of approval that came from Booth's chest. I smiled against his cotton shirt.

I'd said it: _I love you._

Suddenly the happiness in my chest seemed to press it up out of me again: "I love you, Booth."

I giggled at my own silliness.

I felt his abdomen tense under my touch and he gripped me tighter. "Really?" he asked, voice still gravelly with sleep.

I faltered. "Isn't it traditional to reciprocate with the same proclamation?"

The world spun and he rolled me onto my back, placing me in his shade. "How 'bout I show you instead?" he said. He smelled wonderful, even musky with sweat. Hovering, propped on his elbows, he kissed me swiftly, then my cheek, then the hollow beneath my ear…

Then I realized: the sunshine was fully on the sheets.

"Booth, what time is it?" I asked.

He responded with a flicker of his tongue and a slightly wet kiss on my neck.

"Booth!" I protested, then craned my neck to get a look at the clock. "Shit! It's almost nine o'clock!"

Booth paused in his ministrations to my neck. "What – don't you have an alarm?"

"I've never had to set one before!" I exclaimed, then shoved my way out from under him. I rolled to my feet and darted across the hall to the bathroom. As I slathered toothpaste on my brush I heard Booth rustling against the sheets. I felt another warm surge of happiness.

We had just spent the night together.

In my bed.

Without having sex.

And I felt amazing.

I spat in the sink and attacked my hair with the brush. It would have to be a ponytail today.

Booth sauntered into the bathroom, shaving kit in hand. I scanned him from head to toe, admiring his musculature.

"Did you just ogle me, Bones?" he asked, grinning.

"Yes," I answered breezily. "I've had very few opportunities to observe your physique unobstructed by clothes. I intend to take full advantage of the new opportunities."

He gave a dark chuckle. "Keep it up, Bones, and we are _definitely _going to be late for work."

He was referring to sex. I didn't need help with _that_ innuendo.

We smiled at each other's reflections.

"Hey, can I borrow some toothpaste?" he asked. "I'm almost out."

"Sure," I answered. "Top drawer on the right."

I heard him fumble amongst the toiletries, then there was a pause. I looked over to see him holding a small bullet vibrator, only a little larger than my thumb. Before his prudishness could intervene I answered the tacit question:

"It's a vibrator, Booth." I continued tugging my hair into place. "And that's not my only one."

"I know what it is," he said indignantly. A pause. "I just thought you preferred boy-toys to gadgets."

"I, uh," and suddenly I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. But I wasn't one to lie about sex. "I found it difficult to achieve orgasm after I returned from Maluku. When I consulted Angela she suggested some ridiculous theory involving you and Hannah. But she also signed me up for a vibrator-of-the-month club."

I finished twisting the elastic on my hair.

Suddenly Booth was behind me, mouth hovering just under my ear.

"So did that solve the problem?" he asked, then closed his lips onto my earlobe.

"Uh, not really," I said. He snaked his left arm around my waist and his mouth descended a few inches lower. He latched onto the hollow near my shoulder and I felt the pressure build beneath my skin. He was marking me.

"I, unnh, I need to…" But I couldn't remember what I needed to do. I let my head fall slack against his chest.

He gave up his purchase on my shoulder and trailed his lips to the nape of my neck, peppering my skin tingling kisses. His left hand brushed the fabric of my t-shirt against my abdomen and the fingers of his right hand were skating up my thigh, light as butterfly legs.

I heard the buzz and then suddenly my clitoris was beating with pleasure. I gasped and grabbed Booth's arm for support. When I looked down I saw Booth's right hand pressing the bullet between my legs. I felt a surge of ecstasy and my panties dampened.

"So this didn't work for you?" he growled in my ear.

I rotated my hips, rose to my toes, torn between the tantalizing throb and the almost painful tease of only feeling it through my rough panties.

"Booth," I whispered.

"What's that, Bones?" he asked. He started gathering my shirt in his left hand.

"I, uhh…"

His left hand slipped under my shirt and started climbing –

"No," I said, breaking from his grasp. I fell against the counter with two hands, pleasure warring with panic. "We said a week, Booth!" I laughed, covering my alarm.

When I turned around I saw his eyes were full with heavily dilated pupils, his skin a little flushed, breathing uneven.

"Screw the week," he said. He covered my mouth with his, tongue probing, consuming, and settled the bullet back between my legs.

I jumped and then moaned into his mouth, legs trembling as that pleasure, lately so elusive and sweet, thundered through my abdomen.

_No!_

"No, Booth!" I said, this time ducking from under his arms. I slipped out the door and slammed it shut behind me, covering my trail with another laugh. The pleasure was still rippling through my body, so agonizingly close.

"Come on, open the door, Bones!" he begged.

"Not for another six days, Booth!" I answered.

"Don't you want to see what's on the other side?" he teased.

"I need to get dressed and get to work, Booth," I pronounced, effectively ending the discussion. "Stay!"

I speed-walked to my closet, ostensibly to pull on a dress. But my legs were still trembling and I had to breathe deeply through the rush of adrenaline and endorphins. Panic and pleasure, all at once.

I settled on a simple belted shirtdress and started to strip.

In the wake of the Falco case I had forgotten all about that stupid little cut. I had thought of it only once, yesterday, when I so swiftly agreed to a one-week waiting period with Booth. One more week would give the cut just enough time to fade to a regular-looking, if still pink, scar. It would be more easily lost amidst the other battle wounds on my body; after all, I had been shot, stabbed, tied up, and beaten more than once. After the bliss of last night I had forgotten again about that everlasting reminder of my irrational moment of unbridled, unrequited love.

I pulled off my t-shirt and smoothed the skin over the scar. The scab had peeled off, by now, but the skin was a puffy, angry red.

There was no chance I would be forgetting about this again. Before six days were up I had to either come up with a really good story or a safe way of telling the truth.

Or, I supposed, deny myself sex with Booth in anything but complete darkness. I rejected that idea immediately.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: Thanks to all who have stuck with me. That I have been able to inject a little sunshine (and cathartic angst) into some lives gives me happiness.**

* * *

Booth's POV

I still had at least another full day of filling out paperwork, and it was hell to concentrate on. Last night Bones had said she loved me. Then _again _this morning. Before last night I wasn't sure if Bones would ever come out and say she loved me; after finding her in that motel room I had reconciled myself to the idea that she would only ever be able to show me. And I knew Bones could show love, despite her anxiety on the subject. She showed love when she hugged Zack after he earned his doctorate. She showed love when she told Hannah to buy me a rotary phone. She showed love when she implicated herself in her father's murder trial.

But telling me twice within twenty-four hours… I was honored, proud, and anxiously aware of the amount of trust she had just put in me.

I was also incredibly turned on.

The way I saw it, I always knew sex with Bones would be incredible. Even people who had just met us could sense the sexual chemistry.

But making love…

The vulnerability and openness she had shown last night had proved to me that when we had sex, there wouldn't be any walls or barriers. It was going to be pure, raw, and emotional.

Also unexpected: that Bones was suddenly cock-blocking me. I agreed that a one-week waiting period was for the best. Although Bones and I had known each other for years, I wasn't the type of guy to have sex on the first date. There had also been the concern that Bones would use the sex without emotionally committing to the relationship. The latter concern was erased last night. The former concern was easily eliminated by rationalizing that Bones and I had basically been in a relationship for years.

All this was topped off with Bones's casual revelation this morning that she hadn't come for months. I knew it was pretty arrogant and possessive to feel smug that my relationship with Hannah had destroyed Bones's sex life, but I couldn't help it. Plus, now it felt like my responsibility to make sure Bones came as many times as possible over the next few weeks.

So this morning, standing inches from nearly-naked Bones with a vibrator in my hand, it seemed like a good moment to start making up for lost time. I remembered the feel of her ribs shifting beneath my hands, those soft little sounds, her ass pressed against my –

"Hey, Agent Booth, do you have a minute?"

I yanked my chair under the desk, suddenly aware of the size of my throbbing erection.

"What's up, Sweets?" I asked, innocently folding my hands on my desk.

"I understand you and Dr. Brennan have received permission from Hacker to start seeing each other romantically," he said, folding his lanky form into a chair.

"Yep," I answered, then grabbed a piece of paperwork to focus on.

"That's quite a significant change in your relationship," he continued. "I was wondering if you'd like to set up an appointment to discuss how these changes will affect your partnership."

"Nope," I said. "You'll have plenty of time to pick our brains at our regular weekly time."

Sweets leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Agent Booth, could I ask if you and Dr. Brennan have consummated your relationship?"

I felt a flicker of irritation. "Did Angela put you up to this?" I asked, glaring.

"Uh, yes," he answered. He got up and smoothed his tie.

"Tell you what, Sweets. I promise you'll be the last person I tell when Bones and I have sex. Okay? Goodbye, Sweets."

He slunk sheepishly from my office, then paused, hanging on my doorway. "Seriously, though, man – _nice_."

He fled before I could hurt him. I let out a deep breath and tried to work around the thoughts of Littlebooth.

By the time five o'clock rolled around I had a plan in place. I was going to spend this evening breaking Bones down, teasing her with kisses and caresses, but always backing off before she could tell me to. By the time bedtime rolled around, I'd have her panting for relief. I had some serious apologizing to do, and I planned on apologizing to her all. Night. Long.

As I settled my key into the lock of Bones's apartment I had the idiotic urge to call out, "Honey! I'm home!" The door opened and the smell of lasagna wafted out. It was like walking into an alternate universe, like the Stepford version of Bones. The woman herself was lighting two candles on the kitchen table.

"Wow – two nights in a row. You're spoiling me, Bones," I said. I walked over and wrapped my arms around her waist. When we kissed I wasted no time, running a hand up her side and rubbing my thumb along the wire of her bra. She sighed into my kiss and I pulled back, satisfied.

"I hope you like eggplant lasagna," she said, cheeks flushed.

"Sounds amazing," I said. I shook off my jacket and she went to pull the casserole dish from the oven. When she set the lasagna on the hot plate I could tell something was off.

"Hey," I said, stilling her hand, "what's wrong?"

"I, uh…" She pulled her hand from my grasp and smoothed the front of her dress. "I have something to tell you," she said.

My heart rate instantly accelerated. _I was wrong, I don't love you… I'm going to Zimbabwe anyway… I prefer Sully… I'm pregnant._

That last thought startled me out of my speculation. It was impossible, of course, although this scene did bear a little resemblance to some of my memories with Rebecca.

"Okay," I said. "Shoot."

"I've lied to you," she said. "Twice."

My hands flushed with sweat. _She doesn't love you. _I braced myself against one of the dining chairs.

"Although one's kind of a good lie, if that's possible," she continued.

"Start with that one," I said.

She stopped fiddling with her dress and made direct eye contact with me.

"I don't regret letting Sully go. I still have no desire to live a purposeless life."

"Oh." My heart lightened a little.

"I just said that to distract you, because clearly in that moment you did not reciprocate my feelings."

I felt a little stab of regret. "I'm sorry, Bones, I –"

"I need to keep going," she said, "or I fear I'm not going to get through this." Her voice was shaking. My heart was pounding again. "Two weeks ago I said I cut my foot on a piece of glass in my apartment but that was a lie. In a fit of melodramatic idiocy I took a piece of broken glass and cut myself between my eighth and ninth ribs because I wanted to feel what Lauren felt." Her eyes were glassy and panicked and her hands were shaking. For a moment I was stunned, unable to even think. "I'm so ashamed," she whispered, and then she buried her face in her hands.

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Bones's strange evasions about that night. The way she gripped her side when she was crying in her office. Her panicked eyes when I pulled off her sock at the hotel.

Now she was sobbing in front of me, and I didn't know how to react. I felt pain, and bewilderment, and fear that Bones could have done something so dangerous. If she did something so out of character like that, what else didn't I know about her? Did I know her at all? The room was suddenly a china shop, ready to shatter with the slightest misstep.

"Is that – is that all?" I asked.

"Yes," she said between sobs.

"You've never – done that – before?"

_"No," _she wailed. "It was – it was so _stupid _but it felt – _good _and now I just _hate _it –"

"Okay," I said, moving around the chair towards her. "It's okay." We needed this to be okay. I wrapped my arms around her and she pressed her face to my shoulder, arms tucked between our chests. I pressed my nose into her hair and breathed deeply. There was nothing left between us now; no secrets. Eventually the shaking stopped and she was limp in my arms.

"Can I see it?" I asked, throat tight. I needed to see – I needed to know.

"Alright," she said. She backed out of my arms and untied the belt on her dress. Then she started unbuttoning from the top.

My breath caught a little as the milky skin of her chest was exposed. This wasn't how I envisioned seeing her for the first time, but it was entrancing, nonetheless. She finished unbuttoning, revealing a long, slender strip of skin: the shimmering expanse of her breastbone, two wings of lace from the edge of her bra, her bellybutton, a bit of black satin panties, and a few inches of skin before a thigh-high stocking. But she wasn't finished; she pulled back the right side of her dress, revealing a small but red and puffy line, about two inches long. I took a step forward and ran my fingers along it.

It felt like another wound I was responsible for.

"Does this ruin everything?" she asked, voice pleading.

"No, Bones," I said, looking back to her sparkling blue eyes. "I'm just sorry."

"Why are _you _sorry?" she demanded. "I'm the one that did it."

"I'm sorry for all your scars, Bones," I said. I pulled her right arm forward and ran my thumb along the scar from Leacock's scalpel. "I'm sorry for this," I said. Then I gently tugged her dress from her right shoulder and ran my thumb along the mark from Sherriff Wilkinson's gunshot. "And I'm sorry for this." I brushed the hair back from her scalp and revealed the fine white webbing from where Kenton had pistol-whipped her. "And I'm sorry for this." I pressed my lips to that scar, closing my eyes for a moment.

"Am I hideous?" she asked quietly.

"What?" I laughed. "Are you serious?" I pulled back to see her expression. Sure enough, she was using her puppy-eyes. I grinned. "Bones, you're beautiful."

"You're sure my appearance isn't negatively affected by my scars?"

"Well, I don't know," I said, playful, now. "You're still only half naked."

That got her to smile a little bit. Then she shrugged out of her dress, letting it pool on the floor. I took a sharp breath and kept my eyes focused on her face.

"You sure this is a good time for that, Temperance? Because if you –"

"Screw the week," she interrupted. She slammed her lips against mine and started her hands on my buttons. For a minute I just focused on her mouth, rotating and exploring, hands settled firmly on her waist, but then I had to look.

"Hang on, Bones," I gasped between kisses. "Let me…"

I looked down between our bodies, taking in the swell of her breasts, barely contained in black lace, heaving with each breath.

"Come on, Booth," she whined, and I realized she had my shirt off and was tugging at the cuffs. I whipped it off, and she made quick work of my undershirt, pulling it over my head, too. Then she latched her lips onto my left pectoral, making a delicious pressure that was definitely going to leave a mark.

"Ah, Bones," I groaned, and felt the pressure building in my cock. She moaned softly and then released me.

"There," she said breathlessly, "now we're even."

"Not yet," I said. I started kissing my way down her neck, towards her breasts. She was busy raking her fingers over the muscles of my back. "Way I figure," I said, "I owe you about fifty orgasms."

She gasped and rubbed her legs together, shimmying closer, pressing her breasts to my face.

"I don't know, Booth," she said, "I think you underestimate my sexual appetite."

Then she leapt, throwing her legs around my back. I barely caught her, stumbling back so I leaned against the wall. My hands cupped her ass and I squeezed. _Oh, just as firm and soft as it looks. _We were kissing again, teeth knocking, breaths hot and close.

"Bedroom," I said, and started walking blindly in the right direction. She slipped her lips from mine and started work on the grizzled hollow of my throat. I gave a strangled groan and managed to bumble into her bedroom. I felt her kick off her heels and heard them hit the floor. Then she jumped down and reached back to unhook her bra. She shrugged out of the cups and flicked it to the floor.

"Oh, God," I murmured. She stood before me, nipples swollen like two white chocolate kisses, tiny black satin panties, and thigh-high stockings. I sat down on the bed and steadied myself with my hands on her hips.

"Just – give me a minute, here," I sighed.

She was beautiful. Heavenly.

"You're beautiful, Temperance," I said, looking in her eyes.

"You, too, Booth," she said, shoving me back onto the mattress. "But you need to lose your pants."

She bent down to tug off my shoes and socks. I closed my eyes and ran my hands through my hair.

Bones was on top of me, again, now tugging my belt from the loops.

"Oh, God," I repeated. I needed to stay focused, here, or this was going to be a very short culmination of years of sexual frustration.

Bones unzipped my fly and I jumped at the brush of the zipper against my cock.

"Sweet…"

She tugged down my pants and I eagerly kicked them off. I could feel my erection rising from my boxers, but I knew if she even touched it this would be over. As she shimmied back up I grabbed her arms and flipped us. She squealed rewardingly and laughed into my mouth as I kissed her. Then I traveled to the area I was most interested in: those beautiful, pink nipples. I brushed my nose against her left tip and then closed my lips around her nipple, tongue working, applying just the slightest pressure.

She moaned my name in between pants. Then I felt her right hand slip beneath my chest, lower, lower –

I snatched her right hand and pinned it over her head, still working. Then I switched sides, laving and giving the same ministrations. She squirmed under me and my cock gave a particularly insistent throb. _Not yet, _I thought. _Not yet._

Her left had was a surprise attack, slipping in from the side and brushing my tip. I jumped from her touch and laughed, "You asked for it." I grabbed that hand and pinned it over her head, too, both wrists bundled in one of my hands.

"Booth," she whined moments later. "Please…"

"Ladies, first, Bones," I murmured, "but if you promise to be good…" I ran my free hand along the skin of her inner thigh and her hips jolted.

"Do it," she commanded.

I released her hands, and she obediently folded her arms over her head. Her breasts were very tempting, exposed before me, but I had a priority, here: make Bones comes as many times as possible. I let my left hand continue kneading her breast, thumb flicking over the nipple, and kissed my way down her belly. My tongue nipped quickly into her bellybutton, earning a high-pitched whine, and then I ran my open mouth over the edge of her panties.

"Booth," she begged, but I ignored her. She spread her left leg to the side, making room for me. I ran my kisses along the inside of her thigh, then just barely brushed my fingers over the apex of her legs. Her whole body was heaving with every breath. I ran two fingers down the sides of her sex, framing it.

"Do you like getting eaten out, Bones?" I asked.

She gave a throaty laugh and I smiled. "I never would've guessed, Booth," she said, "that you could be so – _oh."_

I ran the flat of my tongue over her panties. My erection swelled to almost painful anticipation when I felt her dampness through the satin.

"Like that, Bones?"

"Yes – but _please_…"

I ran my tongue along the same path a few times, building a rhythm, and then started sucking where I thought her clit was. She cried out and her arms fell to the mattress.

"Take them off, Booth, please, I need to feel you…"

I was willing to grant her request. I hooked my fingers through the straps and tugged the panties down as she lifted her hips. As she kicked them the rest of the way off I got my first look at her: lips swollen, blooming pink, glistening with moisture. I gently pushed her knees apart and reached for a pillow to slide under her hips. She saw my plan immediately and tugged the pillow in place. Then she let her legs flop open, exposing herself to me.

"Oh, Bones," I sighed. "You're so beautiful."

She fell backward to her own pillow and squeezed her breasts. So trusting.

I wasn't about to disappoint. I ran to fingers between her edges, separating her lips. Her clit was glistening, round and swollen. I leaned in and flicked my tongue against it.

"Ah, Booth!" she moaned.

I gave a long swipe of my tongue, spreading her moisture from her ass to her clit. I briefly closed my lips over one of hers and tugged.

"You like that, Bones?"

"Never like this, before," she sighed, running her hands through her hair.

Then I set in with a careful rhythm, licking, pressing my tongue flat, sucking lightly with a kiss. Her thighs trembled around my ears and I felt her flesh pulse and contract, quivering with every touch. I persisted with nothing but the lightest touches, despite her whimpers and inarticulate pleas. I squeezed her thighs with my fingers and pried her wider, so she was forced to thrust her clit towards me.

"Ah, no," she whimpered. "Too – too much." But she tossed her head and I knew she hadn't actually reached her limit. The pleasure would be sharp, almost painfully intense, but she could take the tease. I had to leave something for later, after all.

"Penetrate me, Booth," she begged. My cock jumped, now hurting a little, but I focused on the task at hand. It figures Bones would be that direct in bed. "Please, your fingers," she whispered. I took a break just to say, "Not yet," and then sped up my ministrations. She was clenching involuntarily, now, trying to relieve herself from the teasing, sparkling sensations.

"Please – aaaanh," she said. I knew she was close.

I closed my lips on her clit and sucked hard.

"Ah – _BOOTH!" _she moaned, and I felt the contractions against my mouth, fast and hard, clit threading against my tongue as her body bowed against the bed. I returned to her, pressing a fierce kiss against her mouth. I cupped a hand over her sex and felt the last of her orgasm shudder through her.

"I can't wait to see your face when you come," I said. And then I slipped one finger inside her.

She moaned. "Oh, _finally,_" she said, grimacing. I slowly slipped the finger in and out, letting her clit recover from the sensations just enough so my next touch wouldn't be painful.

"God, you're sopping wet," I said.

"For you," she gasped, "you'd be surprised how often I'm wet."

Oh, not good. The fabric of my boxers brushed tantalizingly against my penis.

"Sometimes, you'd just look at me, and I'd feel my panties dampen. Do you know what it was like? To sit there, inches from you, with sopping wet panties?" I silenced her with a kiss and then dove back down to her vagina. I wanted one more orgasm before I gave myself the pleasure. I figured the quickest way to shut her up was to make her incoherent again.

Finger still pumping in and out, I returned to licking her clit. Sure enough, her words trailed off into moans. I swept my tongue harder, this time, mixing pressure with the more tingling sensations.

I added a second finger and her walls squeezed around my knuckles.

"Sweet – sweet…" she didn't finish.

I felt the tense tissues at her entrance and my cock twitched in anticipation. I just knew she was going to be tight.

I moved my tongue lower, focusing on keeping up the pressure, and curved my fingers to press against the opposite side.

Her orgasm was sudden, a surprise for both of us. I felt her muscles pounding against my fingers and slowed their movement, curving gently in and out.

"Oh, Seeley," she groaned. I liked that. _Seeley._

A sigh rippled through her and her hips bucked erratically. I pulled my fingers out slowly, earning another shiver, and then slipped them in my mouth, licking free the juices. Her pupils were dilated, chest freckled with a red flush, lips swollen, hair wild on the pillow.

Finally, finally I was ready to enter her.

She seemed to read my mind, rising up to pull down my boxers. I let her tug them down, hissing as the elastic caught, revealing a brilliant red erection.

I saw the shift in her eyes as she leaned forward but I placed my hands on her shoulders.

"No," I panted. "Too close."

She nodded and lay back docilely, then let her legs flop open. It was all the invitation I needed.

I moved over her, resting my forearms on either side of her head. This was a dance I was familiar with, but suddenly it felt entirely new. Her eyes glimmered and she smiled, running a hand down my chest. I shifted and my tip hovered at her entrance. I could feel the heat beating between us.

"I love you, Bones," I said.

"I love you, too, Booth," she said, smiling like she had done something to be proud of. Grinning helplessly I leaned in to kiss her, tongues twining, breaths mingling.

I pressed myself into her.

"Oh, God," I groaned, still only an inch in. She wrapped her legs around me and pulled me in deeper, sheathing me in pulsing, moist heat.

"God, you're tight," I said. I felt myself press against her cervix.

"It's been a while," she whispered.

I kissed her again, understanding that was meaningful to her, and started moving.

Moving inside Bones was like licking a cold ice cream cone on a hot summer day – or maybe licking a hot ice cream cone on a cold day. It was like warm pie and slamming the puck into the net and coming home. But it was better than all those things, and I couldn't even tell you what it was like, because my head was dizzy and I was nothing but a white hot current of pleasure.

I could feel I was close, tightening, rising, but I didn't want to go alone.

"Are you close?" I asked breathlessly.

"Yes, Seeley," she murmured.

I kissed her swiftly and pressed our foreheads together.

"I love you," I repeated, and then slipped a hand between us to rub her.

She gave a little cry and managed, "I love – I love you –"

Then the orgasm hit her. Her head knocked back and her eyes closed as she cried out silently, face contorted in ecstasy.

And then I joined her, pleasure surging through me _hard _and shooting me skyward, into an oblivion where my vision thinned to black and my head pounded with the release. I moved erratically, coming down, kissing her once, twice, and then pressing my head to her shoulder. Her hands came up, holding me to her. She was soft and firm beneath me. And the only thing I could think was: _love._

I shifted to roll off her but she cried, "No – stay. I want to feel you soft inside of me."

"Okay," I said. I would've agreed to anything. I felt her heart beating as if it was inside my chest. She still sang a little on each breath, the echo of pleasure.

Then she chuckled once, weakly. "My eyes are watering," she said.

I smiled against her shoulder. "That good?"

"I don't know," she said. "Well, yes. I might be crying. It might just be the force with which I came. Thrice. I…" she trailed off. I ran a hand protectively along her thigh. When she spoke again I heard her words through her chest. "I've never done this, before, Booth."

"Mmm?" I prompted, confused, sluggish with happiness.

"Made love."


	41. Chapter 41

Brennan's POV

I was woken by the phone.

"Pretend it's the ocean," I muttered. I felt Booth's chuckle against my back. His arm tightened around my middle.

I drifted back into blissful sleep.

It started ringing again.

"Goddamnit!" I snapped, then reached to grab my cell phone from the bedside table. I checked the number and then pressed _Send to Voicemail._

"What if that was Cam?" Booth asked.

"It wasn't," I said. "It was my publisher. Besides, if it was Cam your phone would be ringing, too."

"True," he said.

I rolled over so we were face to face. I could tell he was smiling, even though I was too close to focus on him properly.

Last night I had made love. And Booth was right – it was so much more than sex. I couldn't describe in purely scientific terms the sensations I experienced as Booth had moved inside me. The physical pleasure was mingled with a deeper pressure of emotion. And as I uttered my own love my pleasure suddenly skyrocketed, as if the physical and emotional was the same.

Now, lying next to him, I could barely imagine an existence where my skin wasn't pressed against his, our breath didn't mingle, and our eyes didn't meet.

His grin grew, even though I hadn't said anything.

"What?" I demanded.

He propped his head on his arm. "I love you, Temperance."

"I love you, too, Booth," I said, laughing at his inanity.

He slung an arm over my hip and pulled my so I nestled under his chin. I could feel his morning tumescence, but I didn't think we were quite ready to start that, again. I had already woken Booth once in the middle of the night for a second round. We were both tired and blissfully achy. I breathed in the scent of his morning musk.

"What does your publisher want?" he asked.

"Ungh," I groaned, "my publisher wants an update on my book."

"Writer's block?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I've actually written everything right up to the last two chapters."

"Really? What happens?"

"Don't you want to wait and read it?" I asked.

"Why don't you want to give it to your publisher?" he countered.

I mirrored his position and propped myself up on my elbow. "Because I think I need to rewrite at least the last half, and I have no idea what should happen."

"What have you written?" he asked. He was still smiling a little, which made it difficult to focus, but my brain was capable of entertaining multiple lines of thought simultaneously.

"Andy and Kathy have a falling out when she flies to Southeast Asia to unearth a set of ancient remains. She gets called back to the United States to examine a set of remains for the Department of Defense. The remains have been shipped from Pakistan, and the implication is that they are the remains of the most-wanted terrorist in the world."

"Where's Andy?" Booth asked.

"He's assigned the task of helping identify the remains. And… he has a new girlfriend. Named Hallie."

Booth shifted, eyes troubled. "I thought these books weren't about us."

"They aren't," I said. "Because Kathy, heartbroken, never expresses her newly discovered feelings to Andy. As it stands now she's blown up by terrorists while transporting the as-yet unidentified remains to a different lab."

"You're kidding," Booth said.

"I don't kid," I answered.

"You killed off your main character?" Booth scoffed.

I waggled my hand. "Not necessarily. I was considering continuing the series with her as a horribly disfigured burn victim. A tragic character, somewhat inspired by the Phantom of the Opera."

"What?" Booth laughed. "The Phantom of the Opera? Holy shit, Bones, that's creepy, even for you!"

I grabbed my pillow and threw it at him. "I'd like to hear your version!" I snapped.

Booth tossed my pillow off his face and then rolled to his back, a thoughtful look on his face. I wiggled closer despite myself, resting my chin on his chest. I loved his chest. It was broad and beautiful, and when he wrapped me up in it I felt completely safe, like none of my past had ever happened.

"Maybe," he said, "instead of blowing up the van with the remains, how about the terrorists kidnap Kathy, with the ransom being the remains. Then Agent Andy can come save her."

"That would make Kathy look like a weakling," I complained.

He shrugged. "She could take out some of the terrorists. But once she's _gone_," he looked meaningfully at me, "Andy will realize exactly how much he still loves her."

I considered.

"That could work," I admitted, drumming my fingers on his chest. "But Andy wouldn't love Kathy if she was disfigured?"

"Of course he would," Booth said, "in fact he'd probably love her more because he felt responsible. That Andy – he has a white knight complex."

"Really," I chuckled.

"Yeah, but you know, I don't think it would be a bestseller. After the sex scene in your last book? Come on!"

He rolled me over and kissed me through my laughter. Eventually my laughter died down and I focused on the feel of his chest pressed against mine, the pulse in his throat threading beneath my hand, the tingle every time he brushed between my legs. My body deeply remembered the orgasms from last night, and though I had been more than sated, I felt stirrings in my abdomen.

_"Seeley,"_ I whispered. He bumped his nose against mine and gave another sweet kiss.

"Well, you know," he murmured, running his hand down my side, "I could at least help you with the sex scene after Andy rescues Kathy."

"Is that so," I said.

"Yeah, I mean, it seems like you have a few vibrators lying around. I'm sure we could come up with something original."

"Vibrator not needed," I grinned, and pushed him so now he was on his back. I traced a line of open-mouthed kisses down his chest, raking my fingers lightly over his nipples.

_"Temperance,"_ it was his turn to whisper. He tangled his hand in my hair and I lifted my head to gaze into his doe-like eyes. "Not needed," he murmured, and gently pulled me back up to his lips. As we kissed he slipped his hands down my back, kneading my muscles, sliding tenderly lower, and back up again.

"You sure?" I asked, breaking away from his mouth. He nodded.

I slipped my hand between us as a guide and then pressed myself against him.

"Oh," I said. My vagina was exquisitely, almost painfully sensitive after last night. There was nothing else like the sensation of being filled so completely. He was in me and around me, physically and emotionally.

I braced my left arm on the mattress and started moving. Booth groaned and stretched his arms over his head. I admired the view, smiling despite myself, and then slipped my right hand between us, just lightly stroking my clitoris.

"Is that good?" he asked, voice tight.

"Yes," I said, "it feels so – _so _good."

His arm came down, fingers barely tingling against my sides, and settled on my rising and falling hips. I felt a little burst of pleasure and closed my eyes, picking up the pace. Suddenly Booth's hand was on my breast, gently squeezing, thumb rolling across my nipple.

My labia burned with ecstasy and I gasped. I place more weight on my left arm and started rolling my hips in short rises and falls. I spread my knees farther and his penis pounded against my cervix with each fall.

"I love you," I said, and felt the corresponding thrill of pleasure. "Oh, God, I love you."

"I've made you a believer, huh?" he panted.

I laughed and deliberately contracted my vaginal muscles. Booth moaned, face flushing.

_So close._

I pressed harder against my clitoris and then my orgasm arrived in a flurry of intense contractions, ecstasy thundering from my abdomen.

"Seeley!" I cried, and he bucked his hips against mine. Head thrown back, throat taut, he orgasmed, a series of quick thrusts that hit me hard and triggered a few more blissful paroxysms of my own.

I came down from the high, withdrawing my right hand from my clitoris to lend support. Booth's chest heaved magnificently beneath me.

"You know, Booth," I said, "you may have won me over on making love gently."

"Really?" he grinned. "And here I was looking forward to rough and passionate."

"Oh, liking one does not preclude the other," I said, then leaned in for a kiss. It was long and deep, leaving me breathless and a little dizzy. "After all, it's only Saturday morning."

"In a life of nothing but Saturdays," he said nonsensically.

I laughed and kissed him again, adding, "For the next thirty or forty years."

* * *

**A/N: and as the credits roll may I recommend Ray LaMontagne's "Let it be Me"**


End file.
